


Take My Breath Away

by orphan_account



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Banter, Beach Holidays, Crush at First Sight, Crushes, Fluff, Greece, How Do I Tag, M/M, Pining, References to Depression, Summer Love, Summer Romance, Summer Vacation, Sunburn, Teen Crush, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23467768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Joe hates growing abroad; he gets easily sunburnt, his anxiety prevents him from having fun and he likely won't even leave his hotel room. It's a painful experience, change, and he really doesn't like it... but a sight for sore eyes treats him well from the moment he first sees himWell, the second time really... third... fourth?
Relationships: Ben Hardy/Joe Mazzello
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. through the hourglass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May your wishes all come true,  
> May you always do for others and let others do for you.  
> May you build a ladder to the stars and climb on every rung,  
> May you stay forever young
> 
> ~ Forever Young, Bob Dylan (1974)

Travelling isn’t something Joe particularly enjoys no matter what mode it’s by. Cars crash. Trains get hijacked. Busses and trams are a social anxiety warzone. And planes, well, have you ever seen an episode of Air Crash Investigation? Sure, the views are beautiful, cruising 37,000 feet in the air. But engines fail, oxygen tanks can explode and pilots fall asleep. Joe’s seen _Airplane!_ enough times to know this.

Nonetheless, there’s something about the collage of ombrés melting from lavender to taffy, dark blue to aqua which mingles naturally with the hot embers that the ferocious Tiger beams down upon. This is most likely what Heaven would look like, he concluded – not that he would ever know. He’s been condemned to hell since he took his first breath.

Are clouds fluffy? Logically, no. They’re just water in the air. Water isn’t light, so clouds wouldn’t be as whimsical as the majority of the population believe. Though, in all honesty, is the majority of the population wondering what clouds feel like? 

This is just another wonder Joe comes up with to distract himself from reality. 

Being on a plane definitely isn’t helping. His usual coping mechanism of pretending he’s made it big as an actor/director – and doing interviews on his latest job – won’t cut it with this amount of people around him. Especially his family. He knows how they feel about his mental health. And he really doesn’t want to stoke any more judgment.

Actually, that’s a lie. 

His family are very supportive, and help as much as they can. But Joe’s imagination had a tendency to run wild, concocting blatant lies and tricking him into believing them. And he has trouble blocking it out. Music helps. The loud, meaningful classic rock music, which is currently blasting through both eardrums and interrupting his sister’s not-so-peaceful slumber.

“Joe, I swear on all things mighty if you don’t turn that shit down!”

“I’m not turning it down Mary.”

“Turn it the fuck down or-”

“Mary, if you don’t shut up I will climb over those seats and stuff my sock in your mouth and shut you up myself,” John commented from his seat behind them. He's yet to even glance up from his iPad and whatever program he had downloaded or audio book of the Shakespeare play he has to learn in school to survive this ten-hour flight and all its turbulence issues. 

That’s another thing about flying – turbulence. Violent shaking, panicked noises, no control as an impending doom looms over you. No power.

Sounds like a panic attack, really. Joe was no stranger to turbulence in his everyday life; he figured the real thing couldn’t be that bad. Or so he thought. His father grabbed his seat and shook it in a light-hearted joke. Joe didn’t take it that way, sobbing into his neck cushion for comfort.

That was a couple hours ago, now. Just a couple more to go. 

The sixteen-year-old American boy _had_ factored in some panic on this flight; panicking _internally_ and definitely _not_ attracting the attention of everyone in the aisle. He had also hoped to sleep through everything and wake up under the blazing Greek sun – which is no different to the bitter New York sun and yet it seems like something entirely unique. Unique with a capital K. 

It’s probably the fact that Joe is a huge agoraphobe, who doesn’t do change and doesn’t go anywhere. Doesn’t meet new people. Doesn’t try new foods, new fashion styles or new music. Joe is the same person he was two, three, four years ago, just grown in height and shoe size, and hair length, and a voice drop. Not to mention having less hope. Eleven year old Joey had energy, perseverance and hope for a better future; sixteen year old Joe is done with that bullshit.

He knows that energy gets exhausted and hope wears out, and the perseverance that would be telling him to go on is nowhere to be found. Things go, people leave, the world will end and they’ll all be sent to whatever afterlife they’re deemed to be accepted into.

Heaven would be nice. A paradise that guarantees happiness for all time… That’s why Joe knows he’s going to hell; take away the fact that he's gay, full of pride, partly lazy, partly unable to move (yes, again, anxiety issues) and the wrath he has towards his entire existence cannot be measured on an etheral ruler. No, it’s not because of that, it’s because he’s been through enough to know that happiness does not, can not and will not last. That’s why in life, to find things that provide happiness can feel heavenly. To not be overwhelmed in a wallowing pit of fear, anger, panic, shivers and turbulences that simply being alive forces one to do. It’s why looking out to the clouds that drift across the sky, seperating from what mortals have been allowed to view and live in and what they have had to work for and prove themselves worthy of seeing can feel like an enlightenment.

Each day will bring along its ups and downs, harsh tones, buffer zones and times that allow someone to take a breather and account what they’re here for. Some people know that they’re allowed that time, others find themselves sinking into it when they gaze into the infinite horizon beyond what’s visible to the naked eye.

^^^^^

Watching people he had just spent forty percent of a day with, stuck in a pressure cabin suspended in unbreathable air, turn completely batshit crazy the moment they breathe in the intimidating, thick, humid air baffles yet also excites the physically drained boy. As everyone gets off of the plane, Joe’s family being the last to as is their tradition for whatever fucking reason Joseph, the biggest kid (dad), decided would be held. The relieving feeling of bones cracking, muscles stretching and ears not being popped made the journey have a purpose of more than just travel. Now his feet were swollen and he fell flat on his face when he tried to walk. But so did John, the one laughing at him, so at least he can say that he’s a walking talking karma bomb… Maybe.

A coach took all the passengers to the arrivals hall where they’d have their passports check before the real wait began – the wait for bags to be recounted and put on a conveyor belt that could be compared to vultures waiting to feast on the next dead carcass. 

‘Dead’ was exactly how the vultures felt. Completely and utterly deprived of the earth and, now they’re back, they’re eager to bask in it, instead having to stand there and be patient. People were going to get mad, and they did. But Joseph decided wasn’t one for causing a scene, choosing to voice his disapproval to himself as he scuffed at the floor. He eyed the conveyor belt, watching for their suitcases to come so he could get the fuck out of the airport. Knowing his family's luck, their luggage would be the last to come out.

Without giving into the rapidly increasing distaste towards social media, and how much teenagers depend on it, Joe was very fucking thankful that this airport had wifi. Yes, he had to give his details over for it but he’s certain he’s given away more about himself for wifi less needed. Immediately his notifications were flooded with messages from a worried Rami – his close and only friend back home. He hadn’t realised Joe’s flight had been delayed. He thought the passengers and crew on the same flight as the Mazzello’s had crashed, burned and perished “or something.”

After reporting back that he was indeed okay and safe on the ground for now, Joe found it hilarious how Rami was tracking his flight and really freaking out. Joe had to emphasise that he was the one with anxiety, and Rami should leave that to him, though Rami threw back that he should shut the fuck up, which he did. That represents what their relationship mainly consists of. One of them does something, the other one calls it stupid and the next thing both of them know, they are both doing said thing. He can rely on Rami for the kind of entertainment he seeks. They both get each other and that's hard to find in this modern day. People become copies of each other that individualism becomes non-existent. When you do find someone who isn't a clone, you end up liking that person, very much, and he loves Rami, very much. You wouldn't tell from the way they scream at each other but it's the same brotherly love he has for his brother. And, much like his brother, he needs some time away just to get his brain sorted again.

He didn’t have it in him to keep his eyes open to type anymore anyways, so giving himself the chance to shut them without the additional fear of a plane crash or his sister swearing up and down to slice his ears off with a butter knife if it meant he couldn’t listen to his ‘problematic’ music. “How is Bob Dylan problematic? His songs are still relevant today and you’re too stubborn to admit it!”

“Not when I’m forced to listen to drugged up 70 year olds all the fucking time!”

“They weren’t 70 when these songs were released, dumbass,” the younger of the two scoffed, not wanting to engage in any conversation, let alone confrontation. “Old music is the best music and you’re an idiot to deny it.” Leaning into the chair, Joe curled up with his knees up under his chin, pouting at nothing in particular. He stared at the passersby, all feeling the same spectrum of emotions. Lone men here for business, or families looking for quality time together, like the Mazzellos this year. Airports hold secrets and interesting things you wouldn’t notice if you don’t actively go out looking for it. Y’know, it’s true what people say about things you love leading your life; as an actor, Joe see’s plot lines in everyone. He knows everyone’s antagonist, secondary characters and who would get noticed by them, the protagonist, in a daze. Joe’s often the person who the protagonist acknowledges looking forlorn or depressed and relates it to themself, hoping to seek out something good in the state they’re in. At least he matters to someone, even if it’s for a brief moment. It’s something in his nothing and that is invaluable.

You’d be correct in thinking that this comes with his own family too. With all the picturesque cinematography seen from the city streets of New York to the art of the skies and how it plays towards the outline of their narrative; there’s a story with everyone.

Last year, there was an incomplete family vacation to Turkey as Joe didn’t want to go. It took some convincing and long talks with his parents explaining his point of view and his reasoning and they did accept it, still, it didn’t mean they weren’t hurt and disappointed. Family is a big part of life to all of them and the thought of not creating memories with the full five of them being there seems cruel to the other. No convincing or “I promise I won’t be hurt” managed to settle it even so, life went on and Joe got to stay with his grandparents which made him genuinely, unbelievably happy. There isn’t a point in finding synonyms to say it because stripped down, Joe was nothing but happy in that time. Shame, really. He loves his family but it’s increasingly becoming difficult to live with them. One day he’ll move out, probably move somewhere else. Definitely a city. City life keeps his mind at more ease than the suburbs for some peculiar reason. Maybe even move abroad!

Who knows? He doesn’t. If he did it might give his life some more direction rather than just the expected death and taxes.

What seemed like a distant minute or so turned out to have been a half hour before all baggage had been hauled to the temporary seats Mary, Joe and John had taken up to drape themself over before going on a hunt to find a cabbie with their (probably butchered) name on a scrappy piece of paper. After ten minutes of looking, their person was found who took them to “a whole ass fucking bus!” according to John, who stood, gaping in amazement.

“We rented a fucking bus?”

“It’s not a fucking bus,” Ginnie, mom to the children, began as she stepped onto the… vehicle. “It’s just a normal bus, now hop on it or we leave you behind.” Everyone buckled up, the driver (whose name wasn’t caught) took off in an almost dangerous manner down the bumpy roads, violent tremors keeping Joe from sleeping once more. By the time they arrived at the rather admittedly posh looking hotel, it was one am local time, or six pm the day previously at home.

Coming from New York, surrounded by water, it was a strange thing to be right next to the beach, the salty smells being inhaled and not seeming foreign. Peaceful is the right word to describe it. Most definitely a water baby, Joe enjoys the fluid state of tranquility that floating in water provides. It’s freeing. Water fits into its container because physics, and because of physics Joe is kept grounded to the earth, going on a one way path in his entirety. Science is a load of schmuck only because Joe hasn’t the effort to give undivided attention to, so he’s not going to hypothesise his meaning of life down to every atom because that’s too literal. Life isn’t meant to be taken literally. You take things literally and you get cults which clearly isn’t the way to go about. Live life for the future, in the now and reminiscing the past.

Unfortunately for Joe, like everything else, that got muddled into living for the now, in the past, day dreaming of a future that increasingly becomes blurrier and blurrier and blurrier. If you were to ask him what he expects out of this little getaway, he truly couldn’t say. For one, life comes with experience and he hasn’t much experience with change. Secondly, he really couldn’t give a shit. He intends to stay in his hotel room and not leave but that won’t happen because that’s antisocial and this is about familial bonding! Forming memories and being happy!

Yeah, Joe didn’t want to come this time either. He was practically dragged by the ear in his perspective but really it was just a gentle push every now and then out of the front door, into the car, into the elevator doors and eventually through to the reception. Somewhere between the previous and the next move, either Mary or his mother mentioned something to him. Just as a passing comment, which seemed to echo in his mind until he was glancing over the vast ocean once more, waves toppling over, washing up onto the sand banks, in and out. That’s two thirds of the fucking planet right there and he can see it in his eyeline. In the space of three hours he’s witnessed all the elements and it’s gorgeous.

Somehow, his siblings and parents managed to find a way to be tired once more, all the energy they’ve stored up wasting away as they drift into a slumber that Joe couldn’t find himself slipping into. Sleep deprivation has always been a problem he’s aware of and fucking time zones isn’t helping shit. A normal day for him is to wake at six am, live, then sleep at say, three or four am. No, it’s not healthy but it’s also through no choice or fault of his own. He’s learnt, drilled into survival to live off of two or three hours sleep. What about the people arriving now? Gazing down from the forever line where ocean meets sky to a group of four, at least one kid there, just pulling into the parking lot and going over exactly what Joe had not an hour prior. “What is their story?”

There's nothing to go on with them. They're all just shadows being acknowledged from a distance, not even a voice to distinguish where they're from! How many people like that have you come across? People that mean nothing? The passersby you don't give a second look? The shadow people?

To rely on something is to hold onto it for dear life and become dependant, as Joe had imprinted on the idea that if he has worth in something, it's that he always gets noticed as the depressed guy. The nameless character that gets pointed out. Now there's a realization, an epiphany of sorts; "if I could only just consider myself a nameless person then how many stories have I been a shadow in?" Part of the collective and not the individuals, used as a descriptive for a wider section of the scene rather than a close up. "Damn it," he cursed. "Gone and had another fucking breakdown." He muttered through the broken, choked up wails of anguish.

And always at the worst times!

You couldn't consider Joe hopeful for this vacation at all. He's blatantly terrified and that gets ignored so his parents can pride themselves on conquering their sons anxiety and showing him that he can do anything! When really, all they're emphasising the well known fact that people who say they listen do not in fact listen. Countless times he's been told his voice is being heard but there's no echo. Frequently it is made known that he is not alone yet he suffers here, forcing himself once again into silence to avoid the cost of his dignity.

Every excuse under the sun has been given to deter from the actual problem, being called "childish", "problematic" and selfish for coping. Constantly pushed aside into the shadows. Into every corner until they're all filled, when another wall will be built so he can be pushed further and further in. At this point, can he even be considered a protagonist in his own story? Or merely the sidekick to a fucked up demon called Gary that has decided that of all the people they could torment and destroy they have chosen to inflict it all on one person and that person is Joe.

Come to think of it, those shadow people that arrived will never have an impact on Joe. They're just like he is to all else; nothing. Passersby. Average human beings with basic needs such as sleeping and eating and drinking and craving love and affection and sleep and rest and peace and-

"Joe!"

"What the fuck do you want John?" He rubbed his eyes that strained against the rising sun.

"Dad says if you don't go to sleep then we can't go swimming and if we can't go swimming because of you then I will personally chop your balls off and serve them to you-"

"Delightful."

"-rare."


	2. i saw you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life's a piece of shit  
> When you look at it  
> Life's a laugh and death's a joke; it's true.  
> You'll see it's all a show, keep 'em laughing as you go  
> Just remember that the last laugh is on you.
> 
> ~ Eric Idle, Always Look on the Bright Side of Life (Life of Brian, 1979)

By the time his father got up to put towels on some sunbeds by the pool, Joe hadn’t had a fragment of shut-eye. He only pretended he did so that he didn’t have to take the blame if John couldn't go swimming on their first day here. It's hard to go to sleep when you have your loudmouth sister shaking the walls of the entire room with her snoring adjacent to you. Or with your younger brother spread out across the double bed you have to share (and being a human blanket that isn't needed in the sweltering heat). And especially when your body is programmed to run on two hours of sleep – or no sleep at all. Trust him; no amount of daydreaming or meditation could soothe him enough to sleep.

He must have caused a commotion in his awoken slumber as John shifted from half covering him to flipping entirely, falling off of the mattress with a superb thud which was enough to give Mary and his mother a scare. "You good John?" Came a muffled, drowsy question from somewhere in the room, possibly being mistaken for sleep talking if it wasn't warranted. "John?"

"Hmmphhh~" wavered John's slightly broken voice, now behind Joe after turning, facing the slightly marked-up wall, whose wallpaper had been peeled off by equally restless people as to what he is now, he can only assume. People in the light of day wouldn't just peel off the walls for the sake of it or out of boredom. If it were out of boredom then every wall would be torn to shreds but as far as Joe is aware of, it's only this lone wall, cornered in a place where only those who want to be alone, blocked off by all else go. It separates the room from the balcony that looks onto the coast, something that could easily be an acceptable last sight to see before falling.

Right, enough of being morbid. This is supposed to be a good time, not a depressing time.

The hours that past were lost in the nirvana of Joe's mind where he had sunken deep into a swirl of thoughts on his life back home, something he had seemingly escaped from for these next ten days; whether they're spent in seclusion, dreading social interaction with the sun or with blankets covering his legs, an umbrella blocking all UV rays and a teeny tiny glass of rip off coca-cola from the all-inclusive bar, the days will pass and he will go home and the clocks will keep ticking. Three am, five am, seven am, eight. "Wake up bastard," tingles shot down his spine in a boorish chill from his brother's eerie whisper. "We're going swimming, bitch."

“Was he even sleeping in the first place?” Mary jabbed, attempting to make herself a coffee but failing on the initial basis of finding water. Some news programs where the presenters had a stereotypical British accent that rang through the hotel room after channel surfing for the past five minutes proved unsuccessful in an attempt for anything they could understand, and even then, this BBC crap is annoying. No particular reason for this judgment other than the voices being physically painful to bare. It wasn’t that anyone was actually listening to the information though as the plans for the day were discussed by the ladies in the room, who needed a sense of organization rather than going with the flow. “Apparently there’s this erm, this thing in the evening. Music ‘n shit, top floor. I saw a flyer for it before we came up last night saying it was at seven or eight or something. I was too fucking tired to really give a shit when I saw it so cut me some slack here, alright?”

“Yeah, I saw it too… the advert that is.” a hand rubbing over his face as he tried to recall, Joseph searched in his newly formed memories for any retained details, delivering, “I can’t remember what time it is though; there was too much havoc when I went downstairs to give a shit. It was like a fucking Mission Impossible movie down there!”

“What, and you were Tom Cruise?” Ginnie idly teased, taking the kettle from Mary who had now given up and filling it with water from the taps in the restroom. “I had a dream about Tom Cruise last night actually… it was very strange.” She sat down upon the edge of her and Joseph’s mattress, eyes glassy as she recounted “There was Tom Cruise, Jeff Goldblum and what’s his face? Patrick Dempsey! That’s it! Anyway, so here we were on a plane-” His mother drifted into a compelling narration of her subconscious adventures, not noticing when Joe slipped past her to the washroom. Icy and fresh, Joe splashed his face with water to wash away any remains of sleep in him, running his right hand through his permanently sun-kissed hair, letting its natural length frame his face rather than miserably fail in styling it.

Often enough, he had been told that if he can’t think about doing anything on a given day, then at least get out of bed, bypass the vertigo and brush his teeth; what may be simple to others may be a huge feat for the few, so between his spells of chaos and misery, he makes sure that at least, if not anything, if he can brush his teeth then he can’t call the day a complete failure, and he needs that positive outlook today as early as possible. Tracing his outline in the mirror, a display watched over his figure, equal in everything as a reflection but seemingly lacking in emotion. For all mercy, he couldn’t read his own face. Deep-set, concave eyes studied his still growing features; an equal mix of his mom and dad in that he isn’t the carbon copy like Mary and John are respectively, but just similar to the point that you know they’re all siblings. Once more, he’s blurred in the middle, seeking a belonging but not even finding it in himself, or his reflection.

Where he does find fulfillment, however, is that fine line where sky meets land, air meets the sea, heaven meets hell. You can’t blur that line. There is no grey area with the earth. That’s a comforting fact in his opinion, that out there is a place he might fit in, where he belongs to be free. Wherever that place may be, whether it’s on this earthly realm or somewhere unknown to any living person, _snap_ , it doesn’t matter anymore. _If you keep letting your mind wander then you won’t get anywhere significant_.

Fitting five people in a small lift get’s cramped, the Mazellos know this from experience, so when they found themselves in one that seemed to have flat out stopped, a short bout of panic ensued with John being the first to wail out “We’re all gonna **fucking** die!” whilst Joe scowled on in amusement, snickering to himself and his Nirvana band tee which he abso-fucking-lutely should not have worn in 95 degrees heat, _amateurs_.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn anything; he shouldn’t have left the room in the first place, being forced down to breakfast by his parents who agreed by themselves that he should eat something after almost a full day of nothing. Being watched in constant suspicion isn’t the best route to find yourself in regardless, meaning the weight of his parent’s eyes beaming over his shoulder at all times wouldn’t be sending him to his natural goat tenancies and fainting from the fear. Yeah, that’s right, he called himself a goat. Like a sheep, he follows the crowd, but peculiar horns that sit above his head butt people out of the way when he finds himself in fright, and when flight or flight fails him, he freezes, faints, and wakes up in his bed with his brother mocking him.

You can trust him on that; it’s happened to him more than once.

Upon arrival to the food hall, where a buffet of various foods from a plethora of nations lay, strident chatter resonates with many languages, with many accents divided between them, and above all with _nowhere to fucking sit_. “Quick, eleven o’clock, four-seater with a spare chair. John, run!” They soon found a place in the chamber.

In order to not lose this new-found spot they wish to keep, they split into three groups of the girls, dad and John, and Joe. It’s better that way because then Joe can say he got lost and couldn’t find any food he likes, even so, his excuse wound up being true as his navigation skills failed him (not to say he had any in the first place) and he could only return with a bowl of coco-pops. Correction; three bowls of coco-pops and two glasses of orange juice. Apparently he didn't even give the beverage table a chance when he foremost got up but noticed his brother giving him a weird head tilt to his left. After an inaudible back and forth between the two Joe had eventually got what John meant and saw the free drinks going.

"What's with the coco, Jojo?" Mocked Mary, who never shot a sneering look albeit she was too preoccupied messaging Colin McHotty from college that she totally isn't also seeing in addition to Henry McBrainy from debate club, or is it Whitlock McJock from track and field? Oh er, it isn't like Joe's keeping a tally or anything! They're not even that handsome…

"What's with the adultery you fucking sultry?"

"Kids!" Joseph piped up, whacking his two eldest round the back of their heads with his sudoku book. "The day has just begun and you're already fighting? C'mon, have a little fucking respect and stop with the swearing, alright?"

"Might wanna," funny how breathing in at the wrong moment can cause you to choke on your food and maybe die. Pity John hasn't much comedic timing and relies on his natural dumbass dimwittedness to make friends, or he might actually take caution with things rather than cause a scene by coughing and spluttering, a ring of death present in him that was soon silenced with tears streaming down his cheeks, pretending nothing had happened. "As I was saying, you might wanna," cough, "take that advice for yourself, dad. The swearing, that is. We're all as fucking bad as each other."

"Can we not have one meal without a debate or argument of sorts?" Ginnie put forth to all her kids, which included her husband who's just as much a child as the actual three. "Do we really want to start the day off on a bad foot?"

"There's been worse-"

"But does everything have to be a competition?"

"Yes." Joseph, Joe, Mary and John answered in a heartbeat, proving once more to the chuckling mother that they are all insufferable in the best possible way it can be meant. They’re all as clueless as the next one over and they’re all standing in a circle, so you can see where Joe finds his daily piece of entertainment from back home, and why despite all things and all the havoc they cause him, he at least knows that he can laugh at and with people who he loves. Saying this, knowing people inside and out has its advantages and disadvantages and its many grey area problems, including what followed as Joseph proudly led his clan to somewhere which was not where they intended to go.

He swore, up and down, that he took a left at the reception when he placed the towels on the sunbeds earlier, he vows on John’s life! “Don’t swear on me! I don’t want to die because of your lack of direction!” his youngest threw back, passive in his stance, heavily weighed in aggression for they were lost. Taking one wrong turn which led to five more in addition and now the clan were stood by an escape room they never were inclined to believe existed. “I just want that sweet sweet H2O man, and you’re denying it! I am being deprived! Led down the wrong path in life where I’ll end up doing drugs and-”

“The only drugs you’ll be doing are for you lactose intolerance, Johnathan.”

“That, once again, dad passed onto us!” brandishly flailing his arms, the frustration was wholly comical. “He is set out to deter us in life and I don’t even know what deter means but he’s doing it! I just want to swim! Swim!”

“Calm the fuck down John!” Logic was subsided at this point to the kindred, who all agonized over something that can be effortlessly solved, yet as everything must follow they over complicated it immensely and wound up on the top level of the entire building prior to working their way back down with the help of a hotel employee they were left with no choice but to trust, though luckily within five minutes they found themselves in the vicinity of two swimming pools, a pool bar and many holiday-goers of all shapes and sizes getting grilled by Helios, if this were ye olde times, though now we just say “the sun.”

Their sunbeds were on the front line by the larger, rectangular shaped pool, but at a distance and angle where if anyone went into the smaller tub of chlorine with the pool bar then they would still be in eyesight. Opposite their seats, past the pool and up concrete stairs led to a small food court of sorts that served lunch at lunchtime and turned into a dancehall at night for junior entertainment. Flowing heavenly from this banquet holder was the most greek smelling aroma that, if you got a whiff off again, would easily trigger a flashback to this very moment. It's all a vacation should be expected to be and yet Joe couldn't help the pit being dug in his stomach.

Considering his biology towards all things dairy and his, y'know, depression, it's safe to say that he doesn't have a tolerance to many things, especially people and even more so the sun. It always finds a way to burn. Why does it do that? Okay, we as humans need the sun to live and all but why does it have to be so fucking strange? One minute it's peaking through the clouds causing no damage whatsoever but as soon as the barrier passes by then you better get that sunblock on or you'll be cooked! This is just another reason why Joe rarely goes out during summer and if he does, covers up. Sunblock is so… horrible, and he always gives a half-assed attempt at it so even with a baseball cap and hoodie on, his face genuinely looks like it's been toasted under an oven.

So, as everyone found their seats (also arguing because they wanted to swap), and began to get ready to dive head first into the water, the importance of protection against the blazing Greek sun was emphasised and adhered to by the outer children, Mary not wanting to damage her skin and John wanting to splash about, but not by Joe who once more knowingly opened himself up to looking like a lobster. "I'm doing it, I'm doing it!" He reminded his parents, a tidal wave of anger and agitation hitting him, being toned down to his normal self in an elevated heart beat. "I don't need help with the fucking lotion!"

"You do when you're putting it on like that, you idiot."

Heat stroke is also a dangerous thing, proving all the more that the sun should be avoided by everyone and in order to survive we all must become vampires. Fatigue already plagues Joe. The addition of the heat doesn't aid in making him feel any better, though would it with anyone? Even someone with a death wish curses the damned thing. His dehydrated self knows that without a drink now, he'd pass out in the pool, announcing to the others that he's going to the pool bar quickly.

"Get me a coke please!"

"Can I have a fanta? Do they do fanta here? Can you check if they do fanta, Joey?"

"I said I'm going to get myself a drink; I'm not the family butler."

"You're not the butler but you're being an ass about it and for that, I'm telling you to get everyone drinks. Go, and get me a lager please?" Can he really ever get his way? _Stupid fucking fuckers_ , he whined personally, scrunching up his nose in ridicule, _ooh, go get us a drink Joey. Stop being an ass Joey! Fucking idiots. Fucking- yeah, can I get two cokes please? Coke… coca-cola?_ **_That_ ** _thing._

Luckily he didn't spill the tray on the way back like one of the many times he has previously. If he had made a mockery of himself in front of all these people, who (hard to believe it but they) don't actually give a shit, it would be all the more of a reason to stay in the hotel room. Absolutely he would much rather listen to the god awful sound of a BBC presenter than have upper class middle aged couples nudging each other saying "that's the boy that fell over yesterday! What a fucking wimp."

Props to Joseph and Ginnie for having the guts about them to have three children, yes, three whole living demons, for the singular purpose of having them do things for them. At least, that's how it seems to be. Since Mary hit the age of five they've had a personal servant, then Joe came along, then John, and then they could kick their feet to a jig or whatever dance they're doing at the moment and let the kids do all else. John has suffered less than the others by being younger but also by being the problem his elders are left to take care of. Joe could have been in this position but no, three children makes him the middle child. The awkward, weird, forgotten-about middle child, sent to look after his younger brother and make sure he doesn't drown.

Despite the many times he's threatened to kill his brother, he's made to make sure he doesn't die.

Logic?!

Okay he won't let John drown but he doesn't see why he has to do it. Mary is equally as capable! Oh, because he has to? Uncontended? Quite the democracy he lives in.

There are always at least two ways to go about doing something; the safe way and the dangerous way. Let's investigate, shall we? The safe way to enter the pool would be via the stairway by the pool bar. It's the designed way to enter the pool. There is a sign that says "Enter the pool by the entrance at the pool bar." You'd think this would be the favoured way by any intelligent person, any person with a brain, or any person at all, but no. No no no.

Diving head first into a concussion was John, the thirteen year old, screaming for the pure reason of being excited! Water!! He's never seen water before!! You wouldn't have thought it by the looks of him. He was already doing front flips, back flips, handstand and attempting to do a cartwheel despite the fact that it's practically impossible to do in water. "I don't care," he detested. "I either become the first person to do it or die trying!"

"It's too cold." Joe cowered, shivering, cringing at the dip of his toe in the pool. "I can't." He shook his head. "I'm not going in. You can't make me." Meandering his way around to where John had decided to become an Olympic synchronised swimmer, Joe wrapped his arms proactively around his body, sweat forming under the sunblock but the chill of the pool lasting. "I'm just gonna sit here."

"Hey Joey, look at that boy over there!"

Damn it, he should've known better. Should've known not to turn and look at the non existent boy only to get violently pushed, natural instinct kicking in to fight, grab his attacker, who turned out to be Mary, dragging her into the pool with her. Gasping, spluttering and wheezing for air, mini tsunamis erupted from punches, kicks, pushing each other down to the tiled floor whilst clutching limbs, swimwear and hair. Curses were exchanged, of course they were! Muffled by the splashes and laughter of onlookers, John attempted to join in but, being the weakling he is, sobbed after one punch.

It was in the heat of all of this that both siblings forgot about the pool being cold, effectively fixing the issue at hand without the intent to.

After a scolding from mom and being pulled apart by dad, Mary and Joe had settled down and become acclimatised to the water, finding it decent enough now. "Come fight with me Joey! Or are you just gonna fight Mare and pussy out of it?"

"I'm too exhausted to do anything else. I just want to relax for a hot minute, alright?" Descending once more into the cool chlorine, Joe extended his arms to keep himself afloat, crucifixion style. "Jus' lemme float. Floating around in ecstasy~" he sang. "So-"

"Oh. My. Goodness." Mary announced. "Three o'clock, blond bombshell, abs for days, weeks, fucking months!"

"If you think I'm falling for that again-"

"I hate to say it Joey but hot damn you better take a look at this." A voice popped up behind him, nudging his shoulder so the balance keeping him afloat dissolved. His arms flapped around to keep him from drowning, guiding him to the edge of the pool where Mary gawked in the direction of one… handsome… son of a bitch she's right.

On the opposite side of the pool to where his parents bathed stood one gorgeous, chiselled boy, hair gently kissed by the sun though his body was pale as anything. That didn't matter, however, as his muscles stood out, manipulating when he stretched his arms above him only to swoop into the water like a fucking swan. Better than a swan, real ones and ballet dancers; Joe's seen Swan Lake performances enough times and none of them compared to the flawless swoop this boy just took. No lift by professionals, who had trained all their life, could equal his gracious entrance, breaking the surface of the water. His veins flexed as he placed both hands on the concrete walkway, pushing upwards, exposing the glory that was this- this boy!

"I love that I don't have an attraction to boys, because now I can make fun of you both and your jaws." John chuckled between Mary and Joe, bringing a hand to both of their chins to close their mouths which were hanging open. "Don't make it so obvious though. I don't want to have to suffer through another lecture about strangers. Or maybe this time he'll catch on to Mary's promiscu-"

"Et tu, brute?" Knocking backwards, Mary's elbow caught John's chest, pummeling him underneath the waves. "I thought my littlest brother was the better one!"

"I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways: therefore tremble and depart!" John then flung from the calm in all eccentricity, bringing a storm of might with him. All the siblings are close enough in age to understand and relate to each other, and also fight within reason. Mary has her wits about her and wouldn't hold back from a spar if it held her pride in place. Joe can take on either of the two, being the tallest but the slimmest too, compared to John's baseball bones. He's set for a future in the sport yet trains like a professional now! They do get on each other's nerves, but there's compassion behind it. They hate each other in the nicest way possible.

"Those weren't from the same play, or are we just quoting random aggressive Shakespeare quotes?" Joe was up and ready to battle in references. He may not know a lot of things, but he has a surprising lexicon of quotes from plays. _It's the theatre kid creeping out_ he remembers Rami saying once whilst giving him a tarot card reading.

"Sir John stands to his word!" John hopped, rather forcefully, onto Mary's back. "The devil shall have his bargain," he now had Mary in a headlock. "For he was never yet a breaker of, er…" stumbling on his words, the tension he held around his sister's neck softened in his thought.

"Proverbs?"

"That's it! For he was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give the devil his due…" tightening his hold once more, Mary was frantically trying to get him off of her, resulting to leaning backwards, John's back slapping on the surface of the water in a huge _slap_. Little did Joe know or expect but to get away from one siblings led John to another; like a shark, the youngest prayed and captured his target, sending Joe straight down, swallowing the horrid tasting water that burnt his eyes.

"What? You egg! Young fry of treachery!" Within five seconds, John was half-way across the pool, clutching his stomach that was so painfully smacked on impact. Even then, he managed to complete the scene ( _he has killed me mother! Run away, I pray thee._ ) Exhausting as it may be, sometimes all you need isn't love, but a punch up with your siblings whilst quoting the various texts they've had to study over the years. His body felt as though it was getting clammy, which usually meant his sunblock was washing away, so he has to go top up anyway. Climbing out, his eyes squinted, turning away to the floor and muttering "'s too bright." As he strolled leisurely to his parents. "Sup mah dudes?"

"Who's looking after John?"

"Good? Yeah I'm fine too pops, just chilling. Thanks for asking!" The annoyance in his voice was blatant though slightly hidden under frisky sarcasm. "John's fine. He's causing a ruckus 'n quoting Shakespeare-"

"As you do."

"Yeah, as you do. Mary can look after his ass; I'm tired." Plopping himself on the burning sunbed, like a metal buckle in summer, his instinct was to hop up though it was suppressed in favour to relax. To sit down and not support his own weight in water for a while. "Do you have my sunglasses, mom?"

"I think I brought them down… take a look in your dad's bag, they're going to be in there if anywhere." she gestured to the backpack her husband had brought down with them. From cards to sudoku puzzles, it had all they needed to survive a day by the pool, or wherever they happened to go on a particular day. It's an antsy thing Joseph does but it's consistent, much like how he is now; Yankees cap covering his face, headphones plugged in blasting 90s alt rock and his outrageous speedos he insists do not make him look camp on. Every vacation, everywhere they go, you're bound to get **that**.

Joe found his favourite pair of sunglasses in the front pouch of the bag along with a portable phone charger and wires. "Thanks momma bear," he grinned in her general direction, now being able to see. "Want a top up?"

"Yes please honey, and get your dad one too?"

With a roll of his eyes, he made his way to where he was previously, above the water now. John and Mady were still pushing and shoving though it had died down since Joe had last been there; By the time he gave his orders to the barman, they were racing end to end. "Can I also get a glass of er, shit." His words caught up in his throat at the sight of the boy from early with a miniature, more lanky version beside him, taking four cups of beverages to where they were sitting. Without realizing, the barman had placed a glass of cola in his hand though reflex hadn't hooked in yet, causing the glass to shatter and coke spill over his feet. "Fucking hell! Shit, I'm sorry!" Apologising to no one, he bent down to pick up the shattered shared, minding that he didn't get any puncturing his skin. Luckily he was safe but the look on the barman face read not again as he poured another cola for the incredibly embarrassed boy. "Thank you, and sorry, really sorry-"

Joe seemed to endeavour in not spilling anymore drinks, struggling not to let them all spill on his sister, who mocked his reaction to "blond boy" and got a well deserved face full of water in response.

Reaching his destination was in itself a victory, as the heat was making him woozy. It was a total of three times he felt like he was about to pass out and once where he would have knocked himself out by tripping over nothing. After catching his breath once he did take a seat, which was now covered by a towel, Joe laid down and rested. Just wanting to catch his breath; shut his eyes and not worry about drowning or slipping or getting whacked in the face. He would be up soon enough again at the request of his dad wanting food or John needing company. Soon. Give it a couple minutes. Or ten… half an hour?

"Joey?" He vaguely heard above him. "If you're still going to sleep, flip over so your whole front doesn't get toasted, honey." Mom or Mary? Has to be mom. Mary wouldn't give a shit.

"Joe! Wake up! You've been cooking for an hour and a half now and that lotion washed of before you settled down, now turn around or get in the fucking shade." _That_ was Mary. The lack of compassion says it all. "Joey," the voice now came as a whisper by his right ear, tickling him and causing a jerk reaction away from it. "That boy from earlier is playing water sports in the pool. You're not gonna miss that are you?" As he went to rub his eyes, the irritation and itchiness that now awakened in his body let Joe know that he had fucked up falling asleep, but Mary's right, he isn't missing this.

He allowed his mind to awaken gradually but the shock of John slapping the already raw skin on his stomach alerted him. "You fucking idiot!" Everyone around him laughed, and perhaps he would be too if a hand handprint wasn't imprinted on his midsection. "That hurt!" Wincing in anguish, he pouted like a kicked puppy (though not far off.) "I'm gonna have a fucking handprint for the rest of this vacation now! You- you motherfucker!"

"Look at the pool, dude."

Turning his attention towards the pool, a fair number of holiday-goers were playing water polo, or at least some kind of variant of it. No caps, no referee (at first glance) and no seriousness. This was just a baker's dozen of people, possibly two, having a laugh, and yet his first notice was the blond boy from earlier, who had just thrown the ball into the net. Is that a goal? _I think that's a goal_. Mystery boy turned and gave smaller blind mystery boy a high five as everyone reset to take off again. "Holy mother of God." In a rarity, Joe is blessed to be dangerously red: no one can tell that a blush just took over his entire being. "Wow."

"Wowee indeed." Mary confirmed, an acknowledgment to the beauty beholding them. "You missed him earlier. He chucked his little brother or whoever into the pool from the sunbed. He was flexin' hard, y'know. I almost passed out because he-"

"Can you not? I'm trying to watch and I can't concentrate with your fucking yapping." No one could tell he was watching because of the sunglasses, but he was very intently keeping his focus on the boy, fidgeting, flushing, _fucking dying_.

"Sheesh, I'm just saying~" she blissfully sang.

"I seriously could not care less. It's impossible. If you didn't talk again I'd be happy to die right then and there." Joe was so fixated on _Boy_ , not even his peripheral caught his sister's eye roll.

The minutes that followed were spent pretending to be intrigued in a sport neither sibling knew the rules to but watched this game like they would a baseball match or dance recital. It's tedious, honestly. All for one reason as well. Imagine that... Poor boy is being spied on like a hawk and he doesn't even know! That's how spying works though really, isn't it? The spied upon doesn't know and if they do then clearly the spy needs to find a new job. Think about it; how many people in normal jobs could be deadly trained assassins? Your chartered accountant could easily have worked for the FBI just as a Lumberjack is perhaps too good with an axe. It's like the chef in Ratatouille that has killed a guy with this. Thumb.

Speaking of food, watching all this exercise is enough to make Joe hungry. Lord is he lazy. Not laziness actually, it's just that he is so empathetic that he can feel the hunger others around him possess and who is he to deny himself?! The banquet/buffet hall is open for business now anyway and even if Joe is only going to get a plate full of fries, a plate full of fries is better than a stomach full of nothing. It's only one hundred steps away! So close! So… so close… actually Joe is very lazy and it would take an earthquake to get him to move.

Eventually, with the pressure of his mom and dad on either side of him saying _you're not going back in the pool again if you don't fill your stomach up_. "Fine, but I'm not getting anyone else's shit. And don't complain if I come back with nothing." He stood up, taking his phone with him, hiding the handprint that still lasted on his stomach behind his slim arms. "God knows I'm as devastated as you are." He could barely read his notifications that appeared on his phone but he made out that Rami had spammed his DM's which would need solving as soon as possible. Knowing Rami, that would need to be now. "What's up Ramalam?"

"Sami is being a bitch and-" a large bang burst in Joe's ear. "SAMI STOP BEING SUCH A LITTLE BITCH! MOM TELL SAMI TO STOP BEING SUCH A- FUCKING HELL SAMI." _You're literally hitting me with a pillow when I'm trying to do my homework_ . "SAMI STOP BEATING ME UP THIS ISN'T FAIR!" _Rami I'm asking as politely as I can for you to leave me alone. I've got things to do. Please stop_ . "SAMI!" _Rami_ . "This isn't fun anymore. You're such a fucking nerd. Gonna grow up to be a fucking teacher or some stupid shit like that." _Actually I-_ "Shut up Sami; Joe's on the phone." _Tell him I said hi!_ "Sami told you to fuck off. How do you feel about this?"

"Tell him I said I'm praying for him." Joe chuckled, pushing open the doors and taking a whiff of various Mediterranean delicacies, ultimately heading to the smaller western bar are snagging a bowl of, you guessed it, fries. "Why do you make him suffer, so?"

By the time Rami had come to answer, it was clear he had thrown a hissy fit, slammed the door to his room and was now laid chest down on his bed, kicking his feet in the air. "I felt like it. It's early and I still have some caffeine in me from last night when I was worrying about you 'n your flight. That's all good now 'cos you're talking to me so you clearly aren't dead." He let out an unruly sigh. "And I'm incredibly bored without you here."

"Where's Lucy?"

"Do you think I would be here if I knew where Lucy was?" Joe exited the hall balancing the plate like a waiter holds a tray. There's no practical reason for it, it just looks fancy. "I am so funking tired but I can't sleep but there's nothing to do and I'm fucking," Rami took a deep inhale. "OH MY FUCK!"

"What? What's happened?" 

"I'm so done with this shit, honestly. Fuck this. Fuck my life. Fuck you for leaving me. Fuck." As Joe shut his eyes in disbelief but acceptance at his best friend's suffering, his shoulder was brushed past, something hard hitting his arm, causing his whole body to turn. Reflex hit him and although he didn't drop his tray, _I guess that's why waiter's hold trays like this_ , his eyes shot open only to fixate upon what he had been for the last few minutes prior.

"Sorry mate." Came a thick, delicious accent from Blond Boy.

Fuck, he doesn't know anything about this person, not a name nor a personality but he's got a fantastic fisique and a voice of the Gods. Unsure on whether he said something in response or stood gaping like an idiot (or both), his legs soon carried him back to home base where Mary had cooked an eyebrow in his direction. "You good Joe?" He heard Rami ask, asking to _hold on for a moment_ as he acknowledged his sister.

 _He's British_ , he mouthed to her, receiving a slight head nod and silent applause in return, smirking as he sat down. "Sorry Rami, just bumped into, er, someone. Fucking idiot. What were you saying? I- I lost track…"

"Well I was complaining about being bored but something tells me there's tea here. Spill it, or I'll force it out of you. I need entertainment and daytime TV ain't cutting it."

"Nah, it's nothing." Aware of who's around, he makes a mental note to text Rami all the juicy details later. "Nothing, no one." Joe stretched out, yawning into the phone. "I'm so fucking bored too. This place is boring."

"Hey!" He got a gentle kick in the leg by his dad, one sunbed over. "A boring place this may be but a fucking expensive vacation it is too and you will be grateful for it!" All around him snickered at his dad's scold, even Rami who loves seeing Joe embarrassed and all cringed out. It's lore that if Joe witnesses or is a part of something embarrassing or cringey that he can't control (that being the important part), he will physically curl into a ball and wish death upon all; What a sight it is! "If you're bored then go find something to do."

"Do we have any cash? I wanna go to the shop we passed 'n get something." As luck would have it, Ginnie had gotten some out at the airport whilst waiting on Joseph to return with their luggage. She gave Joe 10 Euros... euros? _Oh, we're in Europe now, that makes sense. Euros... That's like how films are called movies, because the pictures move. Wow, humans are very unimaginative._ "I'm gonna buy a watermelon."

"You're going to buy a watermelon?" Rami quizzed. "Why? I thought you have that free food thing?"

"No you dumbass," Joe looked left and right, deciphering which way he should turn to get where need be. "I'm going to get a big watermelon inflatable thing that I can cruise about in. Bounce around the pool like the DVD logo on a TV screen."

"And toast in the sun because you're exposed to the microwaves constantly?" Finding his way outside the miniature store, Joe took a step into the lush air conditioning, basking by the sliding doors upfront before being shepherded forward by staff. "If you breathe in too many rays then your lungs can't cope and you'll get lung cancer and you will die! That's why you put sun lotion on; it seeps through your skin and helps your lungs and neurons repair."

"What you just said makes no sense whatsoever and is completely wrong, I hope you know that." The shop was designed like an IKEA with one way in and a specific path to follow throughout. "The only thing that could hurt your breathing out here would be your asthma." First came sweets, chocolates, basically all things food and drink but more importantly, things that Joe could eat. Things he could get behind and gorge on. _Fuck, they have Kit Kats. One bar wouldn't hurt…_ "you still there Rami?" He inquired.

"Yeah, it's just you're calling me stupid but I don't even have asthma. I've got ecze-"

"No, Rami, you have asthma. You have an inhaler for your asthma. Eczema is a skin thing." Joe then looked over a sunglasses shelf, removing his own and picking up a pair to take a photograph with them on. "Rami I look like Elton fucking John right now in these sunnies! I'll send a picture, hold on."

"Holding."

He sent the picture through after putting the glasses back where he got them, placing his own ones back on, searching the rest of the aisle for the inflatables. Eventually he found them next to the noodles, _obviously_ , and picked out the exact one he was looking for. "I found my watermelon. He's called Geoff, spelt the weird way, and I love him." Overall his trip to the hotel store cost him €7, which isn't too bad when you take in that they put air in the watermelon for him too; all in all a good deal. When he returned, disappointed wouldn't begin to describe the fall of his father's face. "Do you like my watermelon? He's called Geoff, spelt the weird way."

Scanning over his son, Joseph took a deep breath, stunned that he hadn't expected this of Joe. "I give you, say, one day before that bursts or you lose it. One day. If you manage to keep it longer than a day I'll give you ten dollars." Crossing his heart, Joe's dsd held his hand out, shaking on the promise. "Now tell me why the fuck, of all things, a watermelon?"

"Don't talk about Geoff that way in front of him! How would you like it if he burst out saying _why the fuck is your dad such an idiot_? It would hurt!"

"No, because he is a watermelon and watermelons can't fucking talk!"

"He's not an actual watermelon," John butted in. "He's just an inflatable ring painted in such a way that is aesthetically pleasing to some… he looks tasty."

"Actually you're all wrong." Mary now joined in, turning her head lazily to glance over all three boys. "It's a fucking inanimate object. It doesn't need pronouns-"

"Okay, y'know what Mary," Joe pointed a finger at his sister accusingly. "fuck you." He managed to suppress a laugh that held his diaphragm taut. "So go fuck off somewhere to be moody because I don't want to listen to your inconsiderate ass all day."

"You can all be quiet for once, how about that?" Ginnie added, finally, turning the hob off that simmered in their tension. "Joe, go do whatever you want with the watermelon, just don't pop it like your dad said, alright? Can we all settle now?"

"Your family might be stranger than mine." Rami concluded to his audience of one, who agreed. Explained in simple terms, the stereotypical oldest child takes form in John, the brainy middle child is actually the oldest and the chaotic, feral youngest child is Joe. If that doesn't hit home one way in which they're all a bit different then you aren't easily swayed. "How're you getting on there?"

Joe was pathetically failing to get himself sat in Geoff (perchance naming the watermelon wasn't the best of ideas, because that sounded… dirty) let alone get Geoff into the pool. _Sit in ring, push into pool, float about_ seemed straightforward enough though when it came to putting thought into practice, an account for _fall through ring and into pool_ wasn't taken. "I can't do this Ram. They're mocking me."

"Your family is always mocking you, just ask one of them to help."

Just the thought made Joe scoff. "Me? Give into asking for help?" Taking in all possibilities in the realm of realism, including what he had mustered so far after more than ten minutes of trying, Joe accepted "yeah I'm asking for help. This is nuts." Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, Joe pivoted towards his siblings, the only ones now awake, "can one of you push me into-"

"I'LL DO IT!" John expressed, launching himself up from his sunbed to kick the inflatable which carried his brother, looking for a fight.

"I said push me in, not fucking boot kick me back into the states!" Bobbing along where the currents of fellow pool-people directed him, Joe rested on his new favourite item with a bitter taste of disdain from John's antics. Tranquility soon took him over as he allowed his eyes to close under the sepia protection and lolled his head so the longest strands of hair dampened. "You still there Malek?"

"Yeah I'm still here." He confirmed. "Did you put sunscreen on before you got in? Gotta protect those lungs."

"Ah fuck." Measuring the distance between where he is and where he would dock by his parents, Joe groaned into his steadily heating up phone. "It was way too much of a hassle to get in here and I'm not getting out for a while so I guess I'll burn or whatever. Prepare myself for my afterlife. And Rami, sunscreen doesn't protect your lungs. My lungs are fine! Sunscreen protects your skin from the UV rays of the sun!"

"That's what they want you to think, but soon all will be in disarray and everyone's bent backwards talking nonsense and you come out as straight and I'm not depressed and the world will be in complete pande-fucking-monoium."

"The day I come out as straight is never. Even now, there's this blond boy. Holy shit Rami, when I say he looks like a Roman God I fucking mean it. And he's British! I couldn't say it earlier 'cos I was by my folks but oh my Christ this boy is gorgeous. He has me and Mary-"

"Mary and I."

"MaRy AnD i." Joe ridiculed in a taunting, nasal breath. "I'm sure everyone who sees him becomes awestruck. He bumped into me and said sorry and I swear I couldn't breathe properly."

"That's the sun!"

"That's his fucking abs Rami! Fuck me-"

"I'm sure you want him to."

"No but seriously, I can't express enough how beautiful this boy is. And y'know what? I'm probably never going to have contact with him again because I'm a disaster." Lifting his glasses enough to wipe a tear that somehow managed to slip out when he only meant to sound genuinely upset (an early sign that the thought did sincerely destroy him.) "So that's my summertime crush sorted on my first day. Great! Now please take over the reigns of spilling tea because I just wanna loosen up a little so you can take this time to say anything you want."

Resting his phone on his chest, speaker in the direction of his face, Joe leaned into the sizzling plastic of Geoff, shutting out the laughter and non-concerning screams of both pools to pay attention to his best friend. "Well, you'll never guess who I talked to for the first time in forever last night…" Only inputting in when necessarily, Joe dwindled, winding down until he couldn't tell if Rami was drawing out his words or cramming as much information in as possible. Warmth spread across his entire front yet his back was shielded, dipping into crisp aqua.

Concern striked across his figure when an itchiness did too, each moment spent basking progressively becoming painful. Dread filled Joe, who was now paddling towards base, tossing his phone on the ground so it wouldn't fall into the water before falling through his inflatable so he could swim the rest of the distance, hanging up on Rami abruptly beforehand. "Mom, can I go up to the hotel room please?" He was met with a muddled guise, asking a question without words. "Please, I really need to go up."

Above all, Ginnie was disturbed by how abruptly Joe's manner could change from serene to panic. She's been exposed to a lot of things otherwise a distant occurance because of her boy and this happens to be another one of them. A strange day for a normal person is just another one for Joe. "Key is in dad's bag. Don't wreck the room." Watching as her son rummaged through the bag in haste, natural maternal instinct kicked in, alarming her that perhaps something isn't right here. "You alright honey?"

"I'm fine!"

Joe was not fine.

He wasn't good nor doing very well at the moment. Any leverage he could cling onto to say that he was currently feeling positive has crumbled away, fading with every step he took into the main building. _Elevator or stairs?_ Elevator is a packed in, cramped space that can break down but if he isn't quick, he's going to faint. _Elevator it is then._ Every roll of his shoulders ached. Every kink in his neck was agony. Every stretch of his limbs twinged but if he didn't keep moving his body would fix, unable to move as his mind distances itself from reality, taking a third party perspective onlooking the absolute state.

No matter how many times he attempted to find a comfortable position, nothing worked; CCTV would think he's on some kind of drugs at this rate.

Reaching his level took somewhere between ten seconds and seven minutes, getting there at long last, dropping the room key card from his trembling hands multiple times before he managed to get himself inside, directly heading to the bathroom where he put the shower on as cold as it could be. Siberian ice was shooting out of the shower head before he deemed it fit for him to soak under its magic, unable to differentiate tremors due to anxiety from shivers of the cold.

Sinking to his knees, Joe allowed his body to be taken over with emotion; sobs erupted from deep within, ripping up his throat, facing the consequence of something so easily prevented. If only he had an ounce of common sense in him. Oh the places he would be if so. Scratching his skin raw, more so than already, would not be one of them. You could finely cut a line down his body of what had been exposed to the sun and what hadn't because of how badly he caught the sun. No, the sun caught him. It caught him and made him it's bitch. Normally Joe would find that funny, but not right now.

Right now, physical and emotional pain that had been withheld due to stupidity and his subconscious and now been released at once. Flooding through him was a sensitivity to touch and loneliness. You don't need to tell him he isn't alone, because he understands how huge his family is. They're all in the same room, able to talk and express how they feel and enjoy each other's company, but Joe is trapped in a box in the corner. So close, yet so, so far away. In the same room, unable to escape. No human touch, no way of asking for help; he knows he's not alone, it's the feeling of entrapment that makes him believe he is.

Even now, the threat of bombardment from family members isn't possible however his mind is running through worst case scenarios. _They know something is up, how can they not? They're going to ask me if I'm okay and what am I gonna say? No, I'm fucking depressed but I'm used to it?_ Is he used to it? By the way he's handling this situation right now you'd be quick to judge and say no but even computers of the highest degree make errors. Codes slip up. Horses win races when they were a hundred to one. People break. Nothing lasts forever, including an act of being fine. How long does it take for a building to be demolished?

Compare that to how long it took to construct said building.

It is way easier to destroy than create. It's easier to allow yourself to be destroyed than create a new system to cope with the problem. Time and time again, Joe has added onto an existing list of complications for what? Pride? Does it matter?

Unruly, exposed and open, Joe let out a belt of unadulterated torment, unable to conceal what had been piling up for so long now _and fucking sun lotion tops it off_. Fantastic.Why can't he be stereotypical? An average Joe? For what reason must his unlived life be treated with such contempt at his age? Sixteen years, only having memories of thirteen of them, and there's no sight for anymore years ahead. Everyone tells him that life is going to be impossibly more difficult as an adult and it's already unbearable now.

"Why does it take me get fucking sunburnt to have a mental breakdown?!" Always 'why?' and never 'how?'. How is it caused? What sets the trigger off? Pain? Who decides which pain is tolerable and which isn't (after all, pain is subjective)? When is he allowed to live without this suffering? Where can he go to get help? So many more questions than 'why?' except it's all his mind can come up with. How fucking pathetic. Didn't the Greeks kill a philosopher who never quit asking why? "Sort your mind out Joseph! Pull it together!"

Tightening, his body reacted to the rush of thoughts by distracting them with a substantial deal of discomfort. Burning, tender skin flamed, eliciting a wail as every droplet of water hit it. Fighting, Joe contested against himself to get up out of spite. _Be the petty bitch you are Joey boy. Don't be so toxic._

"Baby can't you see…" Joe exhaled, resting his head against the cool tiles of the wall behind him. "I'm falling," dragging out the last vowel, he pushed himself from the floor, brushing out the water collected in his hair. "A guy like you,' he turned to the mirror where he caught his own reflection, shooting a wink, catching his body wash and hair gel bottle in sight. "Should wear a warning." Lathering the gel over his head, letting it drip on his body, he scrubbed it into his locks and skin, cooking his head to the side as he sang "it's dangerous. I'm falling~"

Humming along to his guilty pleasure song did suffice in making him feel somewhat better. He was able to distract himself momentarily from burns and heatstroke and sway his hips, not quite as elegantly as he may have intended, to the tune in his head, which was certain to bring a smile to his face one way or another. Sure, it would be preferred if he didn't have to persuade his mind to feel anything but miserable, though it's proven to be quite a task. Once you go into a spiral of self destruction you can't get out of it.

Feeling all the adrenaline that had been building up in a rush gone, a certain type of exhaustion hit Joe that is different from being tired and more being unloaded on every ounce of effort you have. People really don't understand how draining panic attacks are. Not unless you've been through them. _It's like running a marathon,_ he tells people _, except I don't know because I've never run one before, but it probably feels like that_. Fuck, he is beaten. Worn out. Thoroughly spent. "Sleep. Need to take a nap."

After taking a couple pictures with his phone of the sun falling beneath the ocean, capturing the mountains of another country he doesn't know the name of in the foreground, he built a double sunbed (he put two next to each other) and let his eyelids close. Waves folding over one another before retreating back filled his senses, calming him. Providing a soothing backdrop to a nil screen, steadily seeping into sleep. Surrendering to the hypnotising aura of the Greek air. Blocking out all threats warranted or not; letting go of everything~

“Joe! We’re home!” Alert and responsive, Joe was snapped out of his trance feeling simultaneously further fatigued yet refreshed, finding himself caught in the middle in a semi-loopy mode. The subconscious mind is still active in sleep which is why saying someone is being ‘put to sleep’ when they’re put under anaesthesia is incorrect; you can shake someone who is asleep awake but if someone is put under you can’t. Something to do with memories apparently. Did you know that because you can’t form memories under anaesthesia, therefore you cannot dream, that Michael Jackson didn’t dream for years before he died? It’s actually quite upsetting to think about it because imagine not being able to dream? Not only that, but being put under isn’t sleeping, so he was majorly sleep deprived for years and- "Joseph Francis Mazzello the fucking third where the fuck are you?!"

“I’m out on the balcony! I took a nap!” rubbing his eyes, Joe straightened his arms and back muscles, puffing out all his trapped air and slumping to the floor in the eyesight of anyone who looked through the door. “I’m so…”

“Geoff is dead.”

“Geoff?” Joe’s still recovering mind pondered. “Geo- the watermelon? My waterme- he’s dead?!” launching up, Joe fired into the hotel room with furrowed brows, directing his scorn at John, who was chilled out, relaxed and laid back on their bed. “What the fuck did you do to Geoff?”

“Eh it was an accident.” John shrugged off. “We put him under one of the sunbeds when you went off, like, one of the legs of the bed was through the middle, but I wanted a turn so I went to get him and then, well, y’know…” he pouted, showing an explosion with his hands. “Pop.”

Horrified and appalled. Scandalous. Outrage. However many synonyms you could imagine for shocked, that is what Joe felt. “That’s ten dollars I was promised down the drain! You owe me ten dollars John.” Joe picked up the closest object he could throw, a deodorant can, and did as such. “This is bullshit.” Popping down beside his brother, he remained temperamental, earning a _pack it in_ from his dad and a restrained chuckle from Mary.

“Cheer up Joe! You know what they say,” John turned to his older brother and smiled sarcastically, adorning an accent from England neither would be able to point out where it’s from. “Some things in life are bad… they can really make you mad! Other things just make you swear and curse.” leaning fully on his side, John went to tickle Joe but had his hand thwarted away karate style. “When you’re chewing on life’s gristle, don’t grumble, give a whistle! And this’ll help things turn out for the best, and-”

“If you start singing Always Look On The Bright Side of Life to me I’m going to throw you out onto the road from up here.”

“No one is getting thrown out onto roads, now, we’re going to head down for dinner soon and everyone needs to be dressed nicely or they won’t take us in so put on decent clothes and be ready to leave in about, mmm, ten minutes?” Ginnie put forth, scanning over the room and everyone who heard what she said but gave no reaction, _perfect_ , and going into the bathroom to get her makeup on. “I don’t hear anybody getting a move on out there!”

Multiple accounts of protests were given, molding into one collective whine, giving reasons as to why they should give it five minutes more, just five! “Y’see my young and developing body needs time to collect itself after a productive day of exercise.” John then dropped his voice to a whisper. “D’you think I can bullshit my way through life like I can bullshit my way out of doing things?!”

“No John! You cannot bullshit your way through life like you can bullshit your way out of doing things!” Joe projected, earning a gut-wrenching, excruciating strike on his already marked up midriff from the same offender. A brawl broke out which took longer than it should have for intervention to be bought in (intervention being their dad joining in.) By the time Ginnie came back out, dressed quite nicely actually, she was lone witness to the mess of limbs and shouts that came from a pile on the opposite side of the room. “Momma! Help me, I'm drowning!”

“Calling out for mommy, huh?”

“Fuck you John, you’re the mommy’s boy here!”

“I’m leaving with all of you or without all of you, so if you want to get fed I suggest you get the fuck up and into proper clothes, alright?”

Within fifteen minutes, a new family record despite it being triple the time they were supposed to be out by, the Mazzello’s were back in the elevator and down to the main foyeur, waiting in a queue to get served unlike the state that breakfast was. More people were present now therefore more order was needed, so waiters and guides made sense now. “I do feel out of place in my shorts.” Joseph said aside, crossing his legs whilst standing to cover up. When Ginnie said proper, she meant ‘not any clothes you usually wear’ though the others took it to mean ‘anything but swimwear’. Mary was the closest to presentable as always but the boys wore what could be mistaken for as pyjamas. "Do you two feel out of place?"

"I feel out of place anywhere I go," Joe looked over the whole hall, squinting. "But yes, my band tee and sweatpants don't feel like they belong here. This place is too posh! I said this!"

That earned a light tap on the shoulder from his mother. "It's not posh!"

"There is someone over there who looks like a princess! Who dresses up like a princess for dinner? Posh people. I stand by what I said." In next to no time three sets of flip-flops found their way to a table, being served tall glasses of water and a basket of bread that was demolished quicker than you can say _mine_. "Great, now I have nothing to eat. You all just starved me. Well funking done."

Wielding her butter knife with a severe lack of safety, Mary aimed at her brother, "if you want some, go and get some. There's a table over there," she then directed the blunt weapon to her south-east, "but don't moan about snoozing and losing."

Joe made sure to tug at Mary's hair when he brisket passed her, justifying a right dig in the back of his thigh that didn't stop dulling until he had gotten to the front of the bread queue. _How- what is- knife. Okay, here is the knife, I gotta be quick with it._ "If anyone heard your thoughts they'd think you were a murderer." Sure he'd heard a titter from those behind him, Joe kept his gaze downward as to avoid any eye contact of those who heard him. You absolute fucking idiot, he shook his head, I bet ever John's laughing at you. The thought alone was enough to lean Joe's gaze up where he was met with piercing viridescent irises, lighting up at the non-contact touch. "Holy fuckingSHIT!"

Bleeding, rather vigorously at this point of being left unattended to, Joe needed to vacate from the setting to savour any worth he had left. Grabbing his plate and two slices of bread that he managed before slicing his finger, he got back to the table and held the damaged part up for all to see.

"I've sliced my finger with a knife and it kinda hurts and it's not stopped bleeding since and-"

Turns out John has a low tolerance to anything gory, promptly feeling queasy at the sight displayed, giving him a reason to avoid Joe for good cause. For sure, he needed a plaster, but eh, it could wait. He's had to keep quiet about much larger things, causing a longer treatment time (takes him back to damaging his leg practicing baseball with John and ending up in crutches… a week later.) It had taken three main courses and four desserts until everyone had decided they were done and Joe's wrapped up (in a napkin) finger could be tended to accordingly.

Main reception didn't have a plaster. The kitchen didn't have a plaster. In fact, every place that should have the bare minimum of first aid equipment did not have it, leading to a further twenty minutes of the air around him causing a violent reaction to something that was no more than an over the top papercut. "Can we appreciate the fact that John almost passed out 'cos of a little blood? Because I'd like to talk about how much of a wimp he is."

"Says the guy who can't even cut a slice of bread."

"Yeah well I," Joe chose his next words carefully. "Got distracted, so it's allowed."

"Anyone can get," John paused in a tease. "Distracted, but not everyone cuts… their… sorry there's a boy over there kicking a soccer ball and I'm putting it out there that within five minutes it's going over the balcony and into the streets."

With the way they were sat, the bar inside, glass doors shielding what was in and what was out, the horizon was left open from an elevated standpoint than their hotel room. Along with the vast view of nature were flocks of birds every now and then pillaging from building to building, swooping into various shapes in the heavens. Residential and commercial property dawned the shoreline, modernised yet so old, tattered and easy going. Wind blew harsher up on the top floor but that didn't matter. Peace could be found there. Peace and boys doing kicky upies with soccer balls.

"I'd say two minutes; he doesn't look as skilled." Joe countered. "Any others wanna bet?"

"Nah, but whoever loses your tiff gets the drinks, capiche?" Joseph dealt a set of rummy out for everyone, giving himself the deal of eight as slowly as possible so all could have drinks before the game started. "And… Joe looks like you're off. Be quick, alright?"

"I'll be as long as I fucking want, now what does everyone want?" He found himself saying yet another time today, really solidifying that he isn't the designated butler. I'm not the butler, I'm just unlucky with the bets. Weaving past families and couples that perimetered a dance floor (only one middle aged man dancing so far), no one from the same city, Joe made his way to the bar. No one was there when he arrived but it was still an overwhelming task even after ordering, feeling someone's eyes, somewhere in this large room, bearing into him.

"It looks like a nasty cut you got down there." After ordering their drinks, Joe shot up, fixing his posture as once more, in front of him leaned Blonde Boy, the delicious accent rang between the two boys for a while before Ben corrected his words. "I don't mean _down there_ down there, just," he held up his hand. "Your finger, it looks bad."

Apprehensively giggling, a smile creeping unintentionally (though not regretfully) onto his blushed cheeks. "It, ah, it's still sliced, yeah. I'll be alright though, I'm not going in the pool tomorrow so er, the chlorine won't get to me which will give it time to heal."

"Chlorine helps actually, it just hurts a bit." Blondie looked down as if considering his words, brows knitted and mouth pulled to his right side though it only lasted no less than five seconds. "Why aren't you going out tomorrow? I don't mean to sound like a fucking, _shit_ , I don't mean to come off as weird, it's just that you're on a nice holiday and you won't go out?"

"I get burnt too quickly! My skin is raw after one day and I'm too scared to see what's gonna happen tomorrow." Joe took a beat. "or any other day for that matter, but hey, not everyone tans as well as you do in what, ten days?"

"No I got here about, pff," looking up in thought, Blondie (the given name for now… hopefully that will change soon) tilted his head in estimate. "Was it like, two am this morning? Somewhere around- today was my first day."

"Well that is-"

"Joey boy! Where are the fucking drinks man? We're waiting on- oh, hello." When John had noticed he had interrupted the conversation, he shrunk down, not knowing whether to talk, keep quiet or just _get the fucking drinks and go_ like his father told him. "C- can I just- drinks, table, I'm gonna," reaching ahead in the middle of the palpable tension Joe and Blondie shared, John took ahold of the tray Joe hadn't detected yet, full of all he had ordered. "Gonna head back now, to the table, with the drinks, without you-"

"Goodbye John."

"-with me and I'm off okay! I'm leaving! Bye!" Both watched John struggling with keeping the tray from toppling over. _Alright, this is why I usually get the drinks. It's a skill. A skill that I have_ . _Nice_.

"Your brother?" Blondie asked, smiling when Joe dutifully nodded. "You have more family out- I'm going to stop asking questions. Sorry." He lowered his head shamefully.

"So Brits really are as polite as movies make 'em, who'd have thought?" Joe snickered, reaching for a drink he did not have now the tray was gone. God damn it. "Yeah he's my brother. My annoying little brother. And we're all sat outside 'cos my mom wants to see the view she paid for, 'parently." He looked onward to the smooth features of the Brit. _Don't say anything stupid out loud this time PLEASE don't say anything embarrassing out loud this time_. "Your family up here too?"

Under his breath, Blondie held a bellow, eagerly nodding "my mum, she's the one in the corner over there," he didn't even look back as he pointed to a corner inside, adjacent to the glass doors. "Reading a book, y'know, mum things. My brother! Mikey, Michael, Mike. He is…" Blondie did shoot a shot outside but very briefly. "Still doing kick ups with a football.

_His brother, nice, they're brothers. Football? Fucking the-rest-of-the-world_ "Soccer ball."

"I'm not getting into that. It's football and America is the only place to have football mean something else, but anyway." He shook his head. "My dad, he is, er…" a look of embarrassment took over his face. "He's the only one on the dancefloor." _Understandable_.

"Glad it's not my dad for once, if I'm honest." They shared a slightly tense laugh that rivaled awkward if it weren't for **_something_ ** in the air that made it… better. Perhaps it's Joe's crush. His silly summertime crush he's developed after one day. _That's all it is. Silly_ . Oh well, he won't have to deal with it from tomorrow onwards. _Deny myself happiness but deny myself being burnt as fuck._ Seems like a fair deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was a long one 😫😫😫 but I hope you enjoyed it!!! Slow burn already, I know, but trust me it'll be alright in the end!!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments :-)
> 
> Love you all my lovelies and thank you for reading! Stay safe ❤🥰❤


	3. in time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These children that you spit on  
> As they try to change their world  
> Are immune to your consultations; they're quite aware what they're going through
> 
> ~ Changes, David Bowie (1971)

Joe didn't get a chance to catch Blondie's name before the Brit was dragged away to scold his brother for (finally) kicking the soccer ball over the balcony. That did have some good to it, however, as he couldn't now imagine certain things happening or any conversations he may or may not absolutely want because there's no attachment. By the end of the holiday, when the clan have arrived back at JFK, Blondie will be forgotten and life is going to continue to progress without him. _I shouldn't even fucking_ \- Joe shook his head, clearing his thoughts out like an etch-a-sketch. _I'm gonna_ , ordering himself a drink, his lips thinned to a straight line, _I'm gonna head back._ "Thank you, er…"

The young bartender, at least by the looks of it (seriously, he can't be too much older than Joe), smiled at Joe's politeness. "Gwil. My name's Gwil." _Ah, another Brit. Great._ "Y'know it seems to be the Americans who make an effort, if anyone. They also usually leave er, tips, sometimes of course." Leaning on his forearms, Gwil cocked an eyebrow towards a jar that indeed read **Penny for the guy?**

"Sorry, I don't have any change on me. I would've if I did but I'm scraping for cash myself." Joe's eyes glassed over as he tapped on the glass of his soda. "Blew the little I had on an inflatable earlier." He snapped back to meet Gwil's studying gaze, who squinted as he looked over him. If this were anywhere else, with anything other than a Blonde Bombshell on his mind, stranger danger would be ringing through his ears except currently, well, it's not. That doesn't mean he doesn't find it strange though. "What?"

Resting his chin on his hand, Gwil smirked and rolled his eyes, waving a band in dismissal. "Ah, it's nothing, just…" Joe found the other Brit glance him over again without notice before taking a step back, fiddling with a glass, cleaning it with a tea towel over and over. "S'my third year working here, have been since I left high school with nothing but a drama GCSE. My uncle's the only one of his siblings not to be a medical worker, and I'm the only one out of mine too, but it's not all bad! Every summer I get to work out in the sun, learn 'life lessons' that further education back home couldn't give me, or rather, pick up on things other people don't pick up on." Forcefully, Gwil slammed two shot glasses down on the counter, in front of Joe, intriguing him to stay, just a little longer. He proceeded to throw the tea towel over his shoulder, meticulously aligning the glasses with each other, presenting to Joe.

There was a long silence between the two as disco beats from the 70s echoed through the room. Joe made the first move to question this, hands coming down to sit on his hips, his body weight on his right leg, "what am I supposed to be looking at?" Gwil didn't budge, instead pouring himself a glass of… vodka or water. That's all Joe could make out. "Two glasses?"

Without context you'd assume this man's reaction as a twitch, yet circumstance gave it off as a brushing of Joe's question away. "Dramatics, really." Gwil laughed. "Don't mind them, we'll get back to it later… you know, I bet I can make you turn your hands without touching them." The bartender continued to tantalise Joe, playing on his strange interests that he shouldn't be able to know about. _But if he picks things up that others don't… I should get back to the table-_ "you've got time. They're playing a game, from what I could tell."

"How did you know?"

"You've got arms akimbo and your eyes are looking straight but slightly to the left." Clearly what he had said didn't register with Joe and he didn't expect it to, so he continued. "You're looking to claim space and dominance by making yourself look bigger, and usually when eyes look to the left you're er, hmm, searching your imagination, but when your eyes look to the left and straight then you're in self-conversation. And you were about to turn to face 'em. So… lucky guess. Lucky, well educated guess."

Suddenly Joe became rather conscious of his stance and the way he presented himself. _What even-_ "what's my end of the bet?"

"You answer my question, if not… you don't?"

"Alright, do your worst Mr. Barman."

Grinning wildly, Gwil stood to his full height, having been poorly postured up until now, evenly distributing his weight professionally on both his feet. "Put your hands out." Joe did as requested and as quickly as he did as told he was ordered "no the other way." Promptly following. "I win!" _Wait what? Fuck_. Joe rinsed his immediate disbelief by throwing his hands up in admitted defeat, asking for the question he'd have to answer which Gwil dutifully followed with. "You were flirting with him but you say you're not going to go out again, why?"

"Y'know, if someone had randomly asked me that after eavesdropping into my conversation, I'd tell them that I don't own them shit, but…" taking a sip of his cola, Joe nodded. "Anxiety is a bitch and er, so am I." Placing his now empty glass on top of the previous two shot glasses, creating a pyramid, Joe turned fully and took a step to his family. "Cheerio mistah," he accented. "Maybe I'll come up again tomorrow and you can teach me some more body language things." He reached his table just as the game they were playing had ended, Joseph throwing his cards down saying _ra- ra- rummy_! "What have I missed?"

"I've won all the games so far, as expected!"

"You've won twice, the only two games that were valid 'cos you spoiled the others when you did a hissy fit that you were losing." Ginnie quipped, sipping from her pinot grigio. "But yes, we were expecting that considering you're the most painfully sore loser anyone could meet… bar Joey, of course." She added after some thought.

"Wha- what have I done?! I'm not a sore loser! I haven't flipped monopoly boards or switched out decks from trivial pursuit unlike some people!" Joe targeted his words at certain siblings, not being entirely dishonest. "I'm not competitive anyway."

"You could argue to an extent that me or Mary are worse than you but saying you're not competitive is complete horseshit and you know it. You cross out every tic-tac-toe game that you know you're going to lose. Literally scribble it out! Tell me that's not butt hurt right there. Go on, convince me!" Fully adjusting to face his older brother in his seat, John proved his point with simple facts, shoving them right into Joe's dissatisfied face. After several seconds of silence on both ends he dug the hole deeper. "That's what I thought, dip- OUCH you fucking- you stepped on my fucking foot!"

"Joseph!" Half laughed, half scolded Ginnie at both her son's actions and because her husband turned his head in reaction too. "Why would you stamp on his foot?"

"If I have to look at his face I don't wanna see him looking smug or happy!" Joe said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, which, fair on him, she should have known, being their mother and what not. She made sure to keep an eye especially on her two youngest after their spat, even as everyone packed up to go back to their hotel room at God knows O'clock. Half her kids were drunk off of sleep deprivation and half of them were drunk off of alcohol, and she wasn't completely sober herself! All made for an amusing scene which ended with the girls passed out and the boys, minus Joe, drifting off to old baseball matches, talking on technique both on and off the pitch.

Left out once more, Joe turned to Rami through the blank mirror of WhatsApp, but when that failed they turned to Instagram, sharing memes and such. _I'm not going out tomo btw so if ur free we can video chat._

_Yeah but_ Rami sent back, _pretty sure that's a dumbass move._

God, not Rami too. An earful from his parents, a barman who fooled him and now his best friend? Hoorah. _Fuck this fuck you fuck me fuck evveeryyything I'm not going out again_ . You could hear how hard Joe typed his messages from both the fact that he was practically punching his screen with each letter and he was 'angry singing' the words. "And~ I am not ffucking listening to a ma- no no, a perrrson who is trying to tell," _me_ . "Moi that the sun fucks. Up. Your. Lungs." _So there_.

_Look,_ he received a lengthy wait in time for the short reply he got _. I'm sure your parents paid a lot for this n they wouldn't want you to spend it all inside._

Shrinking back into his pillow, he tutted. "No no no." His lips pulled in tightly. _I'm not risking my own sanity because my parents spent cash on a vacation I didn't even wanna go on._ "Fucking," Joe exhaled sharply. "Why am I even so mad about this?" _It just stresses me out and I feel like if I wanna stay inside then I can. That's it._

_Yeah it's up to you, I just don't want you to be regretting things after because it seems right in the moment._ He could tell Rami was trying hard to make sense here. There's no way he's not concentrating and looking up words to describe what he's trying to get across. _Sleep it off maybe. It's still your first day and ur probably still jet lagged… in addition to the sleep dep_

_No I'm good i'd rather not yknow why should I?_

_To clear your mind_

_Fuck you my mind is fine!_

_Get the duck out of here_ Rami then corrected _*fuck you fucker_

"Why am I even friends with this bullshitter?!" _I was gonna sleep but now I'm staying awake just to spite you_ "motherfucker."

"Joey you should be getting some rest now too. John's passed out and I'm dozing so try your best alright?" He heard his father whisper, saying an affirmative subconsciously, messaging Rami before the former could respond to say _if I put my headphones in can we video chat and I just listen to you cos I gotta pretend to be asleep for like 10 minutes and then I can go outside_

_… okay._

They had a system worked out where if one of them couldn't type but they were on a call then they would take pictures to mean 'yes'. This meant that stored deep in his gallery, Joe has candid photographs of Rami sorting this process out. He can still tell you what Rami was saying for each picture to be taken; _Are you taking pictures for yes?_ Has a slightly confused expression. _So that meant yes?_ His hand is pointing towards the camera with a smile. _Okay so pictures mean yes!_ Is Rami mid eye-roll.

"Don't go falling asleep on me, alright?" **Picture** . "Good, 'cos that wouldn't be very cash money of you. If I were ranting and you just go full unconscious would be funked up… I know you're probably gonna tell me sleeping isn't actually being unconscious." **Picture** . _I was thinking about this recently as a matter of fact_ he snuck in. "Well no offense but I don't really care because whether I'm asleep or unconscious, I'm not awake and I'm fine with that." **Picture** . "You're fine with that?" **Picture** . **Picture** . **Picture** . "Okay I get it." **Picture** . "You hate me." **Picture**. "Fuck you."

Submitting to Rami's theories on why the education system is purposefully impossible to conquer and how fish are actually civilised, "we just can't understand them.", Joe allowed his eyes to close though he made an effort to not fall asleep. He really is staying up out of spite and there's nothing Rami can do to change that _except bore me to the point that I do_ . "Okay but seriously Joe, have you heard of- wait, you still there?" There was a delay but Joe did **picture** after blindly reaching for his phone. "Good. Now, the Pixar theory all begins with Brave~"

_Daydreaming isn't technically sleeping or dr_ _eaming, right? No. Good. Okay, hmm…_

Joe launched into a distant daydream instantly, resuming one he had left on pause from anywhere between five hours and five weeks prior. Picture this; he's in his early twenties, shooting a movie he's written and directed and also starring in. Something to do with someone's corrupt childhood, which may be based on his own, maybe not, it doesn't matter, he's still successful. He's doing what he loves and it's keeping him busy and should Rami be there? Someone once told him that you shouldn't work with people you know and love because it makes it more difficult to command/direct them but of course Rami is there, and Lucy. She has to be there too or Rami wouldn't be productive. Actually, Rami is the leading man and Lucy is the leading lady, that makes more sense but then-

Organising is stressful. _This is why I wing things. I can never plan anything_ . _There's comfort in chaos and disorder in order_ , Joe concludes, _but a person can imagine_ . Isn't imagination part of human nature? _Sure, nature doesn't mean and lead to nurture all the time but again, if you can find solidity in it then run free! Do what you want!_ What do you want?

_Happiness_ , _for one_ . Where are you going to find happiness? _Not in someone else, that's where_ . Then why do you try so hard to fit in? _I don't_ . Try again. _I don't try to fit in_ . Then what do you do? _Be as individualistic as I can be_ ! Why? _Being unique is a virtue_ . Everyone is unique. _Everyone is an individual but not everyone is unique; how many people do you see that look like clones of each other or follow the crowd for the hell of it?_ So all people are their own people… _but people who try to find who they are in other people won't get far_ . And? _That's why they're all clones._ They're lonely people trying to find solidarity in each other but are too dependant on it? _Exactly_ ! That's an interesting viewpoint. _It's mine_ . Yes it is. _Only mine_ . Yup. _Well then why am I talking with someone about it?_ Who are you talking to? _You_. Who am I?

"Joe? You still there?" **Picture** . _Actually let me go outside_. He made his way to the balcony, lit by the soft glow of the silver moon, vastly differing from the golden sun of the day. "Did you fall asleep and I woke you up? I told you-"

"No, I-"

"Your camera is on but I can't hear you. Are you still muted? Gotta unmute the call you idiot."

"No I just sorta," Joe searched his mind. "I don't know. Got thinking."

"About what?"

"I-" what was it about? _Fuck. This literally just happened_ . "It's hard to explain. I'll rack my brain together later and tell you then." _Why am I so~ woozy? About this?_ The feeling didn't make his stomach churn nor his muscles ache, in fact, it soothed him. All felt so enlightened. Heavy in a way that kept him grounded. Soothing. Tranquil. Like how people with an out of body experience talk about their happenings. _Holy shit did I have an out of body experience? I think I had an out of body experience. Shit._ "I'm still staying up all night though so I'll have time to think it through."

^^^^^

Sunsets are absolutely gorgeous. Stock images on Google don't do them justice; you need to see it to understand how beautiful they are. It's an experience and a half involving all the main senses, more than just an array of colours to satisfy your sight. One thing urban and rural places share in common is nature, one way or another, usually in the birds chirping all around you.

When Joe has stayed awake all night, chances are he'll sleep when the birds start chirping, _because at least I know mother nature cares for me_. In the city, it's the pollution in the air or cars running on the streets beneath him that fills the atmosphere with smoke and an odd consolation of home, whereas out here it's the greenery and salty waves in the distance. So authentic, so natural. If you shut your eyes and lost yourself enough, you could place yourself in any time period in any place. Lose touch with reality for just a moment. A moment or two is all that's needed to forget to notice people awaking in the next room.

The world awakening with all its glory is far more pacific than morning breath.

Over time, his family had learnt to not ask questions but that doesn't mean they don't have them. Ginnie makes the most effort to deliver answers to others as she's the one out of all who can read between the lines. Call it mother's instinct, call it blind faith, something in here told her to stay behind for a while and make sure he's alright. Really alright, not putting on a facade like usual. She's not judgemental of his ways of coping but to have a conversation with her son, not a character he's created, is needed to know she's still got him. She still has Joe there. "Joey?" She smiled. "Everyone's gone down for breakfast now, you gonna get ready?"

"I er," he turned to face his mother. "I don't feel like going down today. Just, y'know, not feeling it right now."

"Is something wrong?"

_Where do I begin? You want the depressed reason or the anxious one?_ "Oh, no particular, erm, nothing really. I'm not hungry," _that's a lie_. "And I've actually got a bit of a headache and I don't want to make it worse so-"

"Do you need some painkillers for it?" Ginnie's concern peaked, moving to sit by her son and placing a cool hand over his forehead. "I can go get some from the shop by reception if you need it."

Joe shook her hand off, pulling a sympathetic grin in her general direction. "I'm good, thanks." Is taking meds when you don't need them bad or would it make you high? _Do I wanna find out?_ His blinking became rapid, flushing the thoughts out and keeping the guilt his mother's presence brings him far away. _I don't want to find out._ "I'm sure everyone's downstairs wondering where you are."

"They'll be even more concerned if I go down without you."

"Yeah, well, let them be concerned." Sitting up, he tipped his forehead to rest on his mama's shoulder, lavishing in the appeasing touch of the hand raking through his slightly damp hair. "I'm serious Ma, go down and have your breakfast, I'm good up here, promise."

"Okay, I'll leave you be." She bounced on her feet as she rose, leaning over to give Joe a kiss on the forehead. "But if you want anything then you call me, or you can order room service." His interest peaked. "Our card is connected to the room so you don't have to pay or anything, just phone reception and they'll put you through, alright?"

"Yes mama," Joe gave a heavy grin, using all his facial muscles. "I know." One more exchange of _I love you's_ were given before Ginnie left the room, the air already feeling less cramped. "God I'm glad no one's here to call me a Mama's boy." He would never hear the end of that… "well now what?"

It's too early to order lunch, and he's not one for breakfast on his own accord. Usually if it isn't a school day he doesn't get up until noon so the problem of waiting is never an issue. _How can people wait? How do they have patience?_ The idea continues to baffle him as many things in life do.

_Oh yeah, what the fuck was that thing last night?_

Last night? Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. It was merely a few hours ago yet even in the moment it seemed so foreign. So distant. Everything he saw felt like a shot in a movie; he was in a third party perspective. And the voice? Sure, if he heard it again he could identify it, but as of now, he couldn't say much to describe it. No tone, no emotion, _no fucking enunciation patterns_ , nothing. Well, it was a man's voice, with an accent of some sort but that's all he can remember and memories are fucked. Y'know, every time you 'remember' something, you're remembering the last time you remembered it. Quite similar to Chinese whispers, right? The game where as a message gets passed along the circle it gets disastrously more and more distorted?

It's the same with memories.

Either way, whether you choose to keep remembering something until all turns fictitious or not remember it at all to keep it authentic, but then you forget it, memories are bullshit. _All this talk about making new ones with family and all is bullshit_. If he's going to end up either messing them up or forgetting them then why make them in the first place?

"It's too early to get philosophical." When are you not philosophical? "AAAH FUCK!" He stretched out his limbs like a cat, making his way to the bathroom to splash his face with cold, spiky water and brush his teeth before resting on his bed once more. _Please tell me there is something on_ . BBC shit, stock market shit, German kids shows _, pool? No, snooker. "Fuck." There are always cult documentaries on YouTube. They don't hurt anyone!_

_Scientology videos it is then_ . Like always. _Ooh what's this one_ ? Top five televangelists? _Nice_ . What else has this dude done? _Oh fuck he's done a lot…_

Once you find yourself in a deep enough rabbit hole, there's no coming back. Somehow Joe will always manage to go from interesting, light entertainment videos to not-so-innocent, dark side things. But he can't protect himself from worlds he doesn't know about! _It's all in the name of sanity_ ! Eventually something will pop up on his feed that he's already seen and that's when he knows he's exhausted the materials for the day. Today it clocked in three hours deep into various real stories, conspiracy theories and cult following videos. _Damn, you really do lose track of time when you're six foot deep in true crime_.

Surely there must be something better to do than making rhymes in his loneliness? Though, if no one did that then most of the greatest songs wouldn't exist. He's not making songs, however. He's not doing anything! Straight up cruising through time like it isn't there. How long has passed? Ten minutes or an hour and a half? Who knows. At least he's not spending it in the sun, crispy and raw from the heat. Just the thought alone was enough to make his skin crawl.

"Fuck, I need to burn this," his hands flew up in front of him towards the ceiling, pushing air around in a bid for the right word. "Energy? No not energy. Haven't eaten enough to have energy." His eyes narrowed in. "Creativity?" The air around him seemed to settle. "There we go."

Times like these bursts of emotion require a soundtrack, leading to rather specific playlists on his iTunes account which is actually his entire family's, he's just taken over it. You wouldn't be able to tell from their names but each is meant for a different outcry. Take away the decade and genre playlists and you're left with such names as _Jef the Kawaii Avacado_ (an inside joke he has with Rami), _whilst my guitar fucking sobs_ and, the one he decided to shuffle right now, _you remind me of the babe (what babe?)_ A not-so-subtle nod to his favourite movie growing up. Definitely had nothing to do with his love (and crush) for David Bowie…

Consisting of upbeat, uptempo songs he knows the lyrics to (or at least the gist of them), Joe plays this one when he needs to let go. Not in the way his _Hey Jimi_ playlist lets go with its psychedelic tunes, but in an outlet of screeching out words that mean something, or being able to dance to a melody that makes him move.

From I'm Still Standing to Old Times Rock 'n Roll, if you were to look through his bedroom window when he's home alone and this playlist is blasting you'd see something reminiscent of young Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Throwing himself on and off of furniture he really should take more care with. Sliding through the hallways and crashing into walls. Living the life he'd rather, even if it's only for a song or two, and being the chaotic dumbass he knows he was born to be.

_Ooh, Bruce Springsteen!_ He jumped up from the bed, landing painfully on his heels. "In a dunanana of a dunanana in a danana American dream~" swinging his hips and bouncing on his right foot, Joe faced away from the sun and to a point where he could barely capture his reflection in the mirror of the bathroom. "And now something-something and another little something and suicide machines!" Running, he almost tripped on his way to a full view but saved himself with a grasp on the basin. "Sprung from cages on highway nine, chrome-wheeled fuel-injected and stepping right over the line." He tilted his head back, inhaling deep. "Oh! Baby this town rips the bones from your back it's a death trap!" He looked onward once more, winking "it's a suicide rap we gotta get out while we're young, 'cos tramps like us~" **gasp**. "Baby we were born to run!"

Maybe he doesn't have the dancing genes passed down from his parents but he sure knows rhythm in his hips. It's a gift, really, or human nature. Y'know, being able to keep in time with surroundings is just a part of growing up.

"Okay seriously, why am I thinking about growing up again?" His expression changed vastly in the mirror. Studying all his imperfections visible, he leant forward, mapping something on his cheeks and chin. "What would I look like with a beard?" _Will have to grow one to find out_ . "Would I ever grow one?" Would you? "Pff, maybe. I don't wanna think about growing one." _Why not?_ "Because that means growing older and that is disgusting." _Says who?_ "Says me, dumbass." _You're the one talking to yourself, dumbass, and anyway, how are you going to know what a beard is like if you never want to grow up to find out_ . "Hair and make-up departments in films can put beards on people!" _And when will you ever go to a film set?_ "When I'm old- fuck."

He really can never win. In dreams he sits in vastly expanding fields of sensitive cushions, light to touch yet exponential to look at, whilst a river flows far away but not far enough for the current to be void. All whilst being derelict; alone. Nightmares don't need explaining, especially when the biggest one is the world around him. Even in his own head, he's at a constant battle. Do or don't. Live or die. Pizza or pasta. Complicated matters. One's that can be put on hold for a calming shower.

Calming in the way that allows you to cry all you wish, tremble with fear and wallow in self pity. My kind of shower right there. So it was expected of Joe to strip in the instant the thought popped into his head and dowse himself in a cold spray, twirling three-sixty degrees before falling to the ground. He watched droplets propel from his hand to the floor, passing his fingertips and smooth skin in favour of a rough, dirty surface. Shame, really. There is a cleanliness aspect of showering and bathing, of course, and Joe is one to take that opportunity for sure; He's not one to get his fingernails dirty. That hygiene can be forgotten in favour of basking in pain easily, however.

It's simpler to say it how it is when it's all you know, which is a shock to those who aren't familiar with self-deprecating, depressing teenage and life-longing angst. Yeah, he can feel happy and have fun, but that doesn't diminish his suffering. Even as much as he would love it to. One of the few things he can say he thought of by himself is an important life lesson, in his eyes; _theory can only teach so much. It's experience that lets you in on all of life's little secrets_. In theory, talking to someone could help, and he could just get used to it, but theory doesn't account for human error both internally and externally.

Joe doesn't necessarily fear. He isn't scared of the dark, not when he's lived there his whole life. Clowns don't creep him out any longer because he deals with them every day. He's learnt to make friends with the monster under his bed because if he has to 'respect' the real life monsters then he can befriend one who's done no harm. No, Joe is terrified of dying and leaving nothing behind, making all of this suffering worthless. Just because he doesn't fear what neurotypical people fear doesn't mean his anguish can't surface. And as much as he would love to see it all end, he has to admit, that the thought that comes along with dying makes him scared of the dark.

Give credit where credit is due, aye? He's made it far enough. He'll make it somewhat further in the future. Beyond that is in the lap of the gods, otherwise, not in his control. _Funny that... they say you have to take control of your own life but you can't control when it ends. System is fucked._ The system is fine, you just need help. _And maybe I'd get it if the system wasn't fu-_ your hair is getting too damp with the water. And your head hurts. That's why you're not getting help. _Shit-_

He hates being right, and you gotta give it to him, when you're arguing with yourself constantly then you're always right, and always wrong. Technically that applies to Joe too, not that he's going around championing it though. What a sight that would be… he'd have time to dwell on it later when vertigo isn't hitting him like a steam engine. Right now, unfortunately, that was very much the case. Black splodges shrouding his vision, a deep ringing in both his ears, the weight of water pressing a dull throbbing into his head which was, above all, not really there. It's his mind playing tricks on him as always. Tricks, taunting with endless questions as he tries to sleep, starting random arguments he can't flush out.

And it's all on him. All of it. Is that fair? _What is fai-_ "no." He pleaded, weak, knees shaking. "Stop, please." Despite everything Joe always remembered manners. If you can treat others with kindness when they can't then you are always better, and you will make a better person of them. Could he make a better person of himself? Does he have the effort to be kind to himself? He rested his forehead on the cool surface on the basin, moving to his palms for a comfier edge.

Every sense in his body was being heightened. Muscles contracting and relaxing on impulse and reflex. Threating over an invisible force. Remembering something subconsciously whilst feeling the effects consciously? Perhaps… through the condensation covering the mirror he could make out a face, his face, intact, at least. Red all over, twitching, clenching. _Still describing a face?_ "Havin' an attack and you're making dick jokes?" **Exhale**. "Can't even take a fucking shower. Unbelievable!" His voice raised. "Un-fucking-believable!"

From the corner of his eye he caught his phone light up, a message appearing showing Rami had now awoken once he picked it up. _I'm free to talk 👀👀👀_ he sent without cause for concern.

"Mozzarella stick! How are you doing on this fine day? Afternoon? I don't give a fuck, how've you been?"

"I'm good I suppose! Just low-key-"

"Are you naked right now?"

Joe scoffed at the absurdity, "pff, no…" he looked down. "Wait I forgot to put a towel on." He searched up and down, across and under for wherever these _fucking towels are hidden. I swear I saw some!?_

"So you took a shower? That's productivity at it's finest Joseph, I'm proud of you!" Rami's voice projected as he knew Joe was elsewhere than next to his phone currently. "Get up to anything else?"

"Er," deciding to give up, as per, Joe shook like a dog, wagging all the excess water from his body and hair, drenching the floor beneath him. "Just got a," he recovered from a new bout of dizziness caused by the shake. "Had a breakdown." Joe yelled. "Almost fainted, I think…" he made his way back to the phone dressed in his mom's MTV pyjama shirt and his dad's dad-shorts (y'know, the shorts all dads everywhere own). "Also think I figured out my epiphany from last night. Wanna hear it?"

"What the fuck of course I want to hear it."

"Okay bitch, so," he flopped onto his bed, grabbing the remote control to turn the television down whilst kicking his legs in the air. "Maybe epiphany is the wrong word because it wasn't really an epiphany as more of a kind of, hmm, I don't know, kind of a kick in the balls in terms of my sanity, right?" Somehow Rami was nodding as if he understood. Even if what Joe said did make sense, which it didn't, Rami wouldn't have had a clue what he meant, so it doesn't particularly matter. "I was in a conversation with myself, except it wasn't me? Like, it was me but it wasn't, but it- I was talking to someone that may or may not have been myself, you following?"

"Sorta?"

"'Cos I was daydreaming, right, and I was thinking of all this shit when the thought of 'is it part of human nature to imagine' or some shit like that, and I'm like, nature doesn't always lead to nurture, but if you're good with it, do what the fuck you want! And then I think it went, or what happened next was like…" Joe seeked for the right words to say that had, of all funking times, gone MIA right now. "Erm, fuck, I don't know but I managed to get onto what I want in life, and so I'm like y'know, to be happy."

"As you do."

"Exactly, as you do! And then it, if they're an it. I feel bad saying it."

"Pretend they're like," Rami shifted, headbutting the camera. "Ouch, just, fuck, pretend it was the boy you were fawning over yesterday when you were on your watermelon."

Excitedly Joe's hands flew to fan at his face, smiling, giggling through his chest. "I actually have more news on that boy but I'll tell you that after my out of body experience, 'cos that's basically what it was by I am self diagnosing here." He settled again. "It got really philosophical at one point. I'm not sure whether it was five seconds, minutes or fifty but I can remember it ending with me saying that I'm talking about my opinion to myself, and this is definitely me saying that, then other me slash them slash whomst said well then who are you talking to, blah blah blah, they asked who they are and you snapped me out of it at the right fucking time."

"Damn I wanna like, punch myself for ruining the ending because now we're on a cliffhanger." Rami did end up punching himself unnecessarily hard. "What did you say about that boy again? Did you speak to him or something?"

"Oh my god Rami he is polite and beautiful and ah!!"

"That's a yes?"

Joe flipped around so he could breathe normally and not crush his ribs, resting the phone on the pillow beside him. "So I sliced my finger, did I tell you that?" Rami's eyebrows furrowed. "Well I sliced my finger and he saw and then later he said something along the lines of 'you stupid fucking idiot dumbass hoe' but in a really cute way that made me oblivious."

"I know this sounds crazy, but maybe he was actually being nice?"

"To me?" He squinted, burying his face into the pillow momentarily to conceal his snort. "No, but because he is gorgeous and has the most beautiful voice I was just like, HA, y'know?"

"Gay panic."

"That is exactly what it was, and that lasted a long time till he got dragged away and get this right," for some reason Joe couldn't sit still, sitting up with his legs crossed. Whenever he goes on the phone, he constantly moves about which can make for some awkward times… "the bartender, who's not that much older than us, was fucking eavesdropping into our conversation and then read my fucking body language and made me lose a bet and admit I was flirting. And the bartender is fucking British too!"

Rami tutted "fucking Brits." He then yawned, stretching out like a worn out rubber band. "Anyway, I think you spoke to, like, a deity of some sorts; You defo had an out of body situation-"

"Experience." Joe corrected.

"Whatever. You spoke to Jesus." Rami then lit up, the corners of his lips lifting. He doesn't have a typical smile as more of an acknowledgement that something has popped up. No teeth shining, eye crinkling give away, but a hint of amusement and vulnerability in him. That's Rami. Mysterious yet completely adorable. "Know who I spoke to today? Lucy~" blue eyes wandered dreamily, darting to the left before snapping back to the camera. The smile faded in adept for a smug look, "I think she likes me... She said she loves me!"

"I'm not surprised, seeming as you've been together for a year, but hey, go off." The yawn Rami gave earlier caught up on Joe now. "How's she doing? I haven't talked to her since I last saw her."

"She says she's gonna punch you in your nads, and I'll be there recording it. But nah, she's okay. We're going to meet up in like, two hours? Which means I got three hours until she's ready to be seen in public, but that's on her." Sighing, Rami shook his head, loose curls flailing in front of his eyes, rolling his shoulders. Joe's head fell to his right shoulder, listening intently as his friend proceeded, a hand on his cheek too. "She doesn't need to get all dolled up, but she does, and I don't know if that's on her or if that's on me. If it's because she doesn't feel comfortable enough to be her natural self around me, then how do I let her know I couldn't give less of a shit? I already give her a rose every time I see her… I need to buy her one today actually."

"She just likes the occasion I think, but I wouldn't know, I'm not a girl." Joe circled his head, clicking it. "Don't worry about it bud, you're doing great." They kept the conversation going for over an hour more, taking a break from each other's faces (whilst still hearing their voices) when scrolling through Facebook, for Joe at least, coming across a certain post his momma put up, the tag-line **Family Vacation!!** Following a selfie of all the family, minus Joe, of course.

And he knows he shouldn't complain. He shouldn't be stroppy when he made the conscious decision to stay behind. The way he's feeling is his own doing, but that doesn't constrict his already tight insecurities on worth. Confidence. Ability.

Now he can't speak out about it, or Rami would say he told him so and even if it's meant in a joke, well, Joe finds the most peculiar things funny and the funniest things plain. That's not of his own doing, no, not at all. Disappointment can be sensed through silence however, and Rami has known Joe long enough to not need a degree in body language or non-verbals to know something was wrong.

Joe held his ground though, not admitting anything. Whether it was out of pride or a need to deny seeing it himself, he waved a hand no one could see. "No, I was just reading. Can't do two things at once so er, just reading." Entering Rami's view by turning on his camera, he took notice of the time. "Shouldn't you be getting ready to go if you gotta get Luce a rose?"

Rami's head ducked. "Shit." He panicked, jittering as he went searching for shoes, his wallet, keys, "fuck! I'm gonna- fuck where is my shit?! Sami! Where is my shit?" _Why the fuck would I know_ was heard distantly. "Joe, do you know where my shit is?"

Joe stuttered in voice and thought, "I don't know, but usually shit is under your bed or in your man bag. Have you checked your man bag?" Rami left for a moment, two, three, four and he was back, jumping with a fistbump to the air, other hand clutching a wallet and keys dangling off of his middle finger. "Where was it?"

"Man bag." Panted the Egyptian, taking a pause to gather himself, nodding at his own success. "I gotta skrr, but we'll talk later. You better have something to tell me, alright?"

"Okay, I'll think of something-"

"No, go out and buy something, do something, talk to your blonde British hot bod. Go outside, please?" He didn't wait for a response. "See ya Joe, speak soon." And once more, though it had been a long while, Joe felt like no time at all had passed between being alone and now.

You'd expect somebody as adapted to being alone as Joe to not well up at it, to laugh at it, mock himself, and for the best part that's exactly what he does. That's his morbid way of coping. But not always. Not when he knows he isn't really alone. When it's his own doing. When the morbid laughing is at himself not at being alone but bringing it on. He did it. Perhaps that's a bad quality, to not accept being guilty, but he can't help it.

The rile up of anger, the downfall of tears. Manic in the present because of depression in the past, and then the present becomes the past, and memories get cast in darkness… and suddenly all that anger becomes warranted. Deserved. Self inflicted.

Fuck, they're back. The family is back. The point of infuriation in line with his dart.

But having the chance to shoot doesn't mean you take the shot.

So he hid. Hid beneath a mask. Oh, he's fine! _You had so much fun today? Amazing, I'm glad for you!_ You missed out, bud. _Well, maybe I'll get a chance later_ . When is later? _Please stop asking_.

It was all kept hush but the aura was being strained. No one made an effort, and that was just perfect. No sarcasm! John and Mary came and went, his dad made some conversation though that can be snipped out of memory but mom… mom's know, or at least his mom knows. She stated behind, mirroring the morning but was more stern this time round in her tolerance. If you can get her worked up enough then she won't take any bullshit. "What's the matter Joey?"

"Nothi-"

"Don't lie. You don't like liars yourself and you can't become your own enemy." _Too late for that…_ Now sat on the larger bed of his parent's, Joe leaned into the embrace his mother gave, hugging from the side but, even then, he is a momma's boy. He finds comfort with his mom. She gets it. Not entirely, but she gets it. "Tell me what's up?"

"It's- it's honestly nothing. Just me being me." His voice was muffled on his own effect, praying that if he doesn't care then no one else will despite being disproved many times over, especially with his mother. "I don't want to get into it really."

"You don't want to get into it, even though 'it' isn't even a thing?" She gently held Joe out, hands on both shoulders searching his eyes for humour. The humour he's so famous for. Keeps him going. Not only did she not find anything in that sense but she found nothing. Emptiness. A gloss shining over them, in fact. "Don't take me for a fool Joseph."

**Alert!!** She said Joseph… not good.

"I'm not! I- I'm not, I promise I'm okay and… I… I promise, okay? I'm good!" Liar. _Shut up_ . "Just kind of missed you today, but I'm alright now!" Are you? _I said shut. Up_. "I'm no different than usual, I swear."

"You're bullshitting me, Joe." Her tone changed from somewhat sympathetic to rigid. He knows she comes from a place of good meaning but, well, accepting things can be difficult. Saying it out loud even more so. "You and I both know your usual self isn't something to pass up anyway so come on," Ginnie punched her point through, observing what was a perfectly fine expression to some seep into a dwindling pain. Hurt. It shone just like the glass of his eyes. "Tell me what's the matter."

^^^^^

Noise is the most malicious sense to Joe; he can deal with lights irradiant or graphic sights, smells aren't all that bad just as he can handle the tastes he's collected to like, and Joe is immensely touch starved. As much as a hug and make him cry. No, it's noise that gets down into his core. When he feels anxious in public it's usually from it being too loud rather than public expectations. When his mind is so chaotic, so busy already, the shallowest of breaths can tip him over the edge.

Can it be okay? Yes. Yes it can. If he's distracted enough. Right now his mind is allowed to amble, to notice the minute details, the bass in the music pummelling through his chest as a defibrillation machine would to someone in hospital.

"Well would ya look at that!" Guided to a table, the family's table, Joe's attention was drawn to the disbelievement prominent on his brother's face. "Joey out in public… well I'll be damned." He pulled the chair from beside him out as if it had been reserved for his unanticipated arrival all along. That's not a far stretch considering it had been the barrier between his two siblings as of yet. Like there's always going to be a space between them, Joe, in order to be complete. "'S a movie quiz tonight Joey. Gonna need your skills 'n shit."

"Just 'cos I like acting don't mean I know all about everything movie related." Joe's left arm fell over his stomach, his right busy picking at his nails. "I'm tired anyway," his head lolled to face his brother, who had an arched brow, eyes half lidded. "And I'm not helping you win shit."

Then the unexpected happened. Not a gunshot or inappropriate song, no glasses spilling and cracking.

John glanced down to Joe's feet, up to meet his eyes before shooting down to the fidgety hands and back to the bloodshot eyes. His smile growing dim, it turned into consolation. His attention turned away. John had chosen willingly to not agitate any further. To leave him be. Siblings don't do that; siblings taunt. They are relentless. Brothers don't simply let it be. Who are they, The Beatles?

There was a subtle hint of John being aware of something being up. Perhaps he could read Joe's genuine exhaustion. Whatever it was, Joe was thankful for it as it gave him that few more seconds before a nudge from Mary alerted him. "There's your British Debbie Harry." She pointed with an astute nod of the head to a table some ten or so feet away where Mr Mysterious-British-Blonde-Bombshell sat with his soccer ball kicker-upper brother adjacent to him and the parents pointed out beside them.

The catch got caught, Blondie looking over to Joe, who immediately blushed, smiling, tilting his forehead towards Joe which he reciprocated. They're aware of one another. _Cool. Fucking brilliant_. Joe leaned to his right, whispering "Got noticed Sissy." With a tint of success in his teasing.

Mary leaned to her left, looking anywhere but her brother's gaze, "in your dreams, sonny." They held a chain between them, locked in a mutual gaze, holding it in earnest till they cracked, getting told off for being too loud by Joseph. _Okay, just a joke. Not serious. Haven't upset anyone. Didn't make Mary mad_. "You never told me what you spoke with him about last night. Is he really well-spoken and like, posh speakin'?"

Joe went limp, hiding his face in his hands and groaning, "I've done so much talking in the last hour. I don't wanna talk anymore!" He peeked through some gaps in his fingers, reminiscent of Malcolm in the Middle, if you know… "He just… called me a fool really. _Nasty cut you got there_ or something." He imitated the low, enunciated voice as he heard it a whole twenty-four hours ago, mocking himself the way he took it rather than the way it was intended. "Haven't thought about it much since to be honest." _Mom_ **_just_ ** _told you not to lie to yourself you bastard!_

As Mary opened her mouth to quip back papers and pens were handed out, a timer of five minutes was set before the quiz would begin. They had to think of a quiz name which is, well, rich considering they haven't an ounce of imagination between them. It's actually an eighth of an ounce to be precise, and it all belongs to Joe but seeming as he's too exhausted from his troubles that he's rendered useless. Fancy names, Italian names, _fucking awful names_ were all suggested until they eventually settled for **Minchia** , considering they're a bunch of problematic children, all of them.

John squeezed in trying to remember all Oscar winning movies with the time he had left as Joseph tried to name all the Harry Potter movies. To say they were unprepared when the quiz began would be understatement of the year if Joe hadn't said he wasn't competitive last night. Before the first question was spoken and it was clear Joe would, in lack of better terms, vibe his way through this bullshit, he was sent to go get drinks. His specialty. And to make sure he isn't dead, really; he hadn't moved for over two minutes by that point.

"Ah!" The British barman greeted when Joe was halfway to the bar, causing a blush on the younger man's cheeks in embarrassment. "You're here!" He placed the glass he was cleaning away, flinging the tea towel over his shoulder. "To what do I owe this appearance after an apparent absence from your holiday?"

Joe scowled, "drinks." He sat on the barstool, spinning around before vertigo hit. "Rekorderlig, large pinot grigio, two cokes or Pepsis or whatever cola you got and an orange fanta, please." Steadying his hands on the counter, Joe yawned wildly, closing his eyes for one, two, five seconds seemingly as Gwil babbled on idly in his background, drowsiness taking over his foreground. It wasn't till the drinks were established in front of him that he became alert. "Ermm," he pushed forward one of the half-pint glasses. "I asked for Pepsi, not water."

"You asked for Pepsi," Gwil pushed the glass back. "But you need water."

"No, I need-"

"You need water… you're dehydrated from whatever you were doing today. Look, whether you went into the sun or not, the heat... it's going to get to you and you need to keep on top of it." Gwil rested his chin on the edge of a tray he had got for Joe to carry the drinks away on, though needed to get his point across before letting the red-head leave. "Did you get out today?"

Tracing the rim of the glass, Joe snapped out of his head space, taking time to process the question, Gwil getting ready to answer again before he gave his own. "No I- I didn't. Didn't get out today, no, stayed in like I said I would." His eyes stung, itched, tending to them "but that's alright. I'm out now, aren't I?"

"You couldn't walk in a straight line on your way here." Gwil tapped the tray lightly on Joe's head. "You're a mess."

The American waved a hand, taking a gulp of icy liquid, feeling the burn cool down his throat. "Nothings changed from normal." He observed Gwil's frown.

"If that's your normal then you need-"

"Help, yeah, I know. You're not the first to say it and you won't be the last, not by a long shot, but look," Joe turned the bottle of Rekoderlig around so the label faced the barman. "Do you have the apple 'n blackcurrant flavour? If I go back with the wrong one I get scolded and eh, I can't be bothered to take that right now."

"Is there anything you can be bothered to take?" Gwil swapped the bottle for a different one, having to squat down _and show his ass just a little bit_ to search for it in the mini refrigerator. "You got ten seconds before your man gets over here. Drink your water up and I might pour you a coke."

"Oh," Joe spewed his water out "shit, er, fuck, do I look good?" He flailed with his hair, effectively making his situation worse and himself scruffier.

"You look stoned mate."

"Fucking stoned from a fucking- Oh, hello!" Stood next to him was his _British Debbie Harry_ , according to Mary; Blondie. In replace of the faded shirt from yesterday, there was a bold one today. A soccer jersey? It's different, that's for sure. Today is a different day, of course it is! _Why would he be wearing the same shirt..?_ _Fuck_. Only now had he realised he was gawking, gaping at the Blonde, shamefully. "S- sorry, I… I need a glass of water, please?" He directed towards Gwil, who shot a knowing look of _I told you_ so back whilst fetching some ice.

"'Scuse me? Can I have a diet coke please? If you have any, it's fi- it's fine if you don't but-" Gwil has a habit of slamming things, such as glasses, cans and beer bottles, to prove his point and good for him! He shattered Ben's nervousness in turn for fear which, even if he had only had one and a half lengthy conversations with the man, was rich. Gwil would feel guilty for swatting a fly, from what Joe would like to think. Saying that, this is the cryptic, arcane man that held a bet with Joe after reading his body language, so it's up to deities to roll that dice. "Thank you, mate."

"No problem, **mate** ." Gwil punctuated. _Ooh, maybe he does have a spark in him!_ It definitely caused Blondie to look startled. Joe took this effort from Gwil as an almost big brother ( _sibling, not government_ ) move, though that's less than likely. Gwil would have no reason to, unless he's a kind person, which is very rare in this day and age. Very rare indeed. _But not impossible_ …

"I didn't see you out today." Deb- Blondie regained his demolished conviction, simulating the, _hmm, aura_ he had yesterday. "Kept your word?"

"I didn't realise you were keeping an eye on me, or lack of me." Joe chose to keep his words short in fear of overdoing it. About embarrassing himself. Rambling on and on and on and giving tonnes of unnecessary information that gets cringeier along the way but he can't not keep going because if he doesn't then there'll be an awkward silence and he should really stop. Now. Fuck, it's easy to slip into that, isn't it? Too much or too little. Either way, there's a cumbersome tone after _which we're filling into okay fuck say something_ . "I meant it when I said I burn easy." _And I have crippling, debilitating anxiety_.

"Well maybe if you put on enough lotion and er," Blondie seemed to process his next few words. Evaluating how to get his point through without sounding, hmm, offensive. Taking a sip of his diet coke, he let his wrist fall droopy, "if you weren't bouncing around the pool like a… like a pinball machine!"

_Heh, I like how he says pool_ . "You say 'pool' funny." Why would you say that? You've fucked up here. _I know I've fucked up! I just- said it!_ That's one of Joe's pitfalls. He can be outspoken, yes, but he often speaks out without consequence. Without thought. Without- _wait, he noticed me?_ "And you were watching me? Wow," he was overrun with pride. A hint of amusement accompanying the sheer panic of being noticed. "I'm flattered!" _Joe you talented son of a bitch you did it. You made it seem like you're not crying internally_.

Blondie scoffed, acknowledging what this American counterpart he knew nothing about (other than sunburn) had said, he floundered Joe's credence. "You were plopping about in a watermelon, talking on the phone rather loudly to someone or other; you weren't exactly hard to miss."

Is it still second hand embarrassment when you feel it from the perspective of yourself? "Well shit, you got me there!" Joe's voice wavered from the immensity of crushing emotions facing him in the moment. Even if all the mixing of flattery to uneasiness were bypassed, rather than hyperactivity taking his mind it'd still be drained from… earlier. It was only after a dwell of thought that Joe had taken in all Mr Harry had said. "And you… bitch, I did put on enough lotion!"

"Clearly." Both boys let out a chuckle, one suppressed under a facade and one directed so boastfully it couldn't be true. Synchronised, they took gulps of their respective drinks, Joe's recently delivered from an Eagle eyed Gwil, keeping close tabs. Close tabs? Uh uh, eavesdropping. He seemed to be skeptical of his fellow brit in a way he hadn't shown to be with Joe. It's not worth getting into why, however. Joe's not Gwil and guessing gets you nowhere. "I'll see you tomorrow though, hopefully, right? Or will I have to bump into you again, try convince you to come out once more."

Ah, another ignorant-by-proxy male, sacrificing agenda on the altar of personal gain. When you're subject to a blissfully benighted society as Joe had, it's like adblock. It's subconcious. You don't need to think about excluding it when it's out of the limelight. Nor when it's become such a daily event it isn't an event anymore, just life. Nothing inconspicuous anymore. But now? Now it's right in his face, and judging by Gwils attention-to-detail skills he'd be able to say how done with this shit bullshit Joe was right now.

In fact, Gwil felt entirely the opposite. Mainly because he wasn't looking at Joe. He knew that boy was far gone in his state that it wasn't of value to keep watch on. Instead he kept tabs on the Lad, as he had dubbed thee. Enough cockiness, enough vocal quality and certainly enough muscle for a boy of his age to be considered a lad. _Probably plays football too, the bastard_ . Not that Gwil has anything against these stereotypes, they're just not _him_ , or rather, not _for him_. Okay, he shouldn't judge on appearance and the way a man speaks but he could write an essay on all the other things that nonchalantly impact and influence his astute.

Gwil is passive aggressive but not in the typical way; the information he collects passively influences the aggression he shows towards others.

And he wonders why he's left to go spend the summer in Greece every year!

The Lad reacted kindly to Joe's follow up, however strained it seemed to have been for the American. "Maybe I'll go out, maybe I won't. Today's not tomorrow."

"Yet you seemed to make your mind up last night how you'd spend today." _Point taken_ , Joe confessed inside. _He's got a fucking point_. "It's your choice, but I'll admit, you're a fun person to keep bumping into, y'know? Considering I don't even know your name apart from, ah," he simmered. "Was it, Joey Boy?"

Fucking John- Joe gradually nodded, nipping the corner of his bottom lip, "my brother said that, didn't he?" He accepted Blondie's giggle as testimony, extending his hand with a quashed jitter. "Joe. 'Name's Joe."

Blondie took a firm grip of the claims hand, smooth compared to Joe's heavily calloused palms and fingertips. "Ben." Blo- Ben apprised, straightening up with a click of the neck. "And now we're on a first name basis!"

"I guess we are…" throughout the night, Joe had been severely in trepidation, though now something let the situation sit nicely in his stomach. Eyes that had been crying not an hour prior now gazed upon a beauty. And even at that, _a nice person._ His thoughts were interrupted when a cockblock Gwil coughed.

Sorry, _coughed_.

The type of cough that means _you're dragging this matey!!!_ _And it was at this point last night your brother came some wrap this shit show up!_ Y'know? A _cough_.

"I er, best be getting back to my-" scattering, a list that had been forming latently in his mind was quashed, limbs flying and knocking over the drinks that had been waiting for the conversation to end. "Fuck, this can't be real. I'm not real." He hid beneath his palms, pressing into his eyes.

"Oh, you're very real Joe." Ben hopped off of his seat, leaning forward to pat on Joe's shoulder, lingering a few moments longer than you'd expect strangers to associate. "However which way we next bump into each other," his voice grew smaller, a metre away when it next, and finally spoke "'sup to you."

And off went Ben once more, mirroring last night, heading outside to his family as Gwil was already pouring Joe new drinks, hitting the bottom of the glasses hard enough on the marble counter to alert Joe out of his haze. What was it he said yesterday? Dramatics, really… "You're so fucked."

"Wha-" He met Gwil's amused face, "yeah, no fucking shit, Sherlock!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we have Gwil!! And the boys know each other's names!! And they're awkward teens!! !!!
> 
> I do love writing this story and seeing people enjoy reading it warms my heart up so thank you to those who kudos and comment 🥰
> 
> Stay safe my lovelies, and don't die if the lads keep being this active on social media as they have been this last week. I know I've certainly cried multiple times from their antics.
> 
> Bastards.
> 
> Take care!! Love you all ❤❤❤


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